Your voice permeates this vacuous brainpan,
evaporating the thousands of other voices
reverberating, shouting, singing, wondering
and doing silly pirouettes to show off a
new pink tutu- as if a voice really knows
dancing like this.
Your voice shuts down the drama and trauma
going on, so that I can tune in and listen
deeply to what is really going on.
Again, I hear only your whispered word,
now, now, now- a soft mantra that soothes
me like a baby’s swaddling cloth.
I realize afresh that there is nothing I need
tend to, that life and death are matters that
take care of themselves- in due time,
and that I am required only to attend to this,
this endless repetition of now, now, now…