Speaking of Light (Original)

I can hear the low hum of light;
the rustle of leaves on the ground
when meteors brighten the sky
and whisper in luminescence.

The vibration pulses in slow rhythm,
it chants of an unbreakable freedom
that binds and winds through all humanity
in instinct born in deep antiquity.

When we only hear the wind
we're listening to stars.

I dance and fall in their language
and sometimes I catch a slight glimpse,
a hushed noise that notices me,
rustles unintelligibly.

Spying on the celestial
on the breeze of each reflection,
whatever they're saying heals me
and I hope they talk forever.

When we listen for the light,
the conversation starts.

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