Gerry Grubbs is an attorney who practices law in Cincinnati OH. He has several books from Dos Madres Press, his most recent is Chrysanthemum Moon. This poem touched me, because it is about his communication with his late wife. We are sort of fellow travelers--doug holder
A New Way To Listen
When my beloved calls now
I cannot hear her voice
Her voice is the dew
On the morning flowers
So I must learn
A new way to listen
She calls and it is
The sound of the sea on the sand
Sinking and withdrawing
Now coming again
Now again
My beloved calls
And says my name
As a ray of sun
Illuminating all
Her voice falls on
How can she be so near
When I feel so far away
I hear the birds sing
And it is her voice calling
For my light to rise
Her voice is the sky
Full of that blue
That knows how to call me
And I am the cloud that her voice calls
And that she fills with rain
Which is falling
As my tears fall
Emptying me out
To be filled again
And again
As it pleases her
And it pleases her to find me
Even when I am not looking for her
She still comes
She still watches over me
The way a song watches
Over its notes by singing
Me into existence.
