Open My Ears

I am here -- waiting, listening. What are You whispering to me? Blow the breath with force. Sometimes I need a gale to hear, I think. They are all so thick, these acid tones that circle my days in tarnished sound; they wreath not greening holiday boughs but legacied rust -- entombed in ice, hardended moments of silence -- curtained with memories of tinsel days past, fragments sharp-edged and broken-bent --dead falling past advent, ripping toward the re-birth of spring. I am here -- waiting, listening. Close my ears to cacophony that they may be opened anew to Your rhapsody.