By Lily Dennis
Saint-Valery-en-Caux, France (Lily Dennis/Radio 1190)
I look at the ground while I walk,
stark absence of music in ears—
yet not quite
silence, either.
Indistinct murmur between friends,
an argument down the street—
dull thud of my shoes against
pavement underneath.
Come rain,
quiet splash of puddles
tentatively stepped in—
and with snow,
crunches deafened by cold,
a sleepy stillness reverbs
quiet secrets kept for Spring.
When you’ve grown around disorder,
you notice what to look for,
that soothing calm amidst chaos.
Rays of sunlight slip through
cracks etched in sidewalk,
small enough to glimpse—
yet too illusory, too un-
touchable.
And you notice how to look for it.
In the cars, with their music, bleeding
basslines
heard through closed doors and closed
windows,
in the clamour of birds above trees
close-by,
and in my chest, steady heartbeats—
my very own.
The Earth sways an unspoken rhythm,
one that lies within itself.
So I look to the ground while I walk,
while still I notice
everything.
