Deep Listening

The taut wire hums before it breaks,
     like the city in the morning
     or late, when the lights go out.
And the chain on the bridge gate—
     before it snaps, one link turns over
     slowly, and creaks.

I watch an oak whose top
     has forgotten the ground under the leaves.
At the final swing of the axe
     the high branches glisten,
     whisper, then lean
     with surging recognition
     to an old friend.

I turn to you
     and listen.

— William Stafford

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