Without a sound.
She brings the singing bowls
To ring around the water hole
Where horses may or may not go
To drink
Because they know the glow of things
In melting sun,
And how the whirlpool whorls turn inward
To a cool core
Where the endless sparks
Of error fall
In the void where all is possible,
For new notes
To tear again relentless echo tones
And unlock the forms of stone
That hold their shapes long after
They're gone.
