I belong to your vistas

your panoramic places

older than our Voice.

Toddlers listen to

memorize your scent as this day’s time

your shadows, curves, slopes, curls

a panoply of nature’s sacred places

shaping spaces for mind’s rest

imagining your view as mine

to play or hide

or grow smaller

or dance

sounds of buzz and chatter,

clack and clatter,

august synapse

resounding crash of tipping gravity,

move, shift, roar, hunt…

resting silently again.

Behind my breath

I hear yours

then ours together

echoing before this Voice

interrupts my holonic bath,

within long intimate horizons,

vast belonging songs.