Dick Allen

1939–

Listening Deeply

Listening deeply,

sometimes — in another — you can hear

the sound of a hermit, sighing

as he climbs a mountain trail to reach a waterfall

or a ­Buddhist nun reciting prayers

while moonlight falls through the window

onto an old clay floor,

and once in a while, a child

rolling a hoop through the alleyways of Tokyo, laughing,

or a farmer pausing in a rice field to watch geese fly,

the thoughts on his lips he doesn’t think to say.