Ode for the unseen chorus

Why is it that I am at peace? The
Quiet has lulled me to a sense of
Things which float rather than scurry or
Scramble. They are not in the bushes nor do
They climb the trees. They are not fervent nor
Fearful and have no need to hide or lurk. They
Do not need the darkness for they are bright and
Airy and we don’t normally see them when we are
About our usualness of doings that rob us of this
Sense that an order we don’t understand nor couldn’t
Create, is all around us, seemingly beyond our
Senses but not really because it is heavy in a
Light way, like air. We can feel it if we try, like the
Breeze that rustles the curtains and lifts the
Table cloth’s edge; that caresses our skin in
Such a gentle way like love enjoying our
Surfaces while filling our interiors with such
Gentle overwhelming that our skin is
Transformed into something pleasant and
Delightful, an organ of the oldest and most
Beautiful music.

The day is cloudy and the dog comes to
Sit beside my foot and, as if on schedule, the
Sun comes out and makes a halo for
Her body; the quietly noisy of a trillion
Rustling leaves stumbles over me in a
Pointillism of sound and she brings to me the
Aromatic wealth of her hot, dark fur for a
Pet before sitting back down. I inhale the
Day and there is a
Prickliness inside me like
Standing hair in static electricity
Before the new found sun hides
Again to the rhythm of another
Cue and the cool shade spreads its
Soothing hands across us to
Rest there.

There is a silent roar as the
Lips of the wind brush across the
Lips of the land and trees
And buildings and wires,
TV dishes and antennas, and
Through the open window and
Across the clack of this keyboard.
I float a little on it
And settle back down.
You are with me now.