poem by Ruth Salles
In the world around me the wave runs:
air particles that follow,
pushed by everything that moves
and that shocks the air and vibrates, infinity;
and, in that meeting, the strange sound comes,
in a ripple that never dissolves.
Nobody sees the energy rolling like this.
A squeak, a creak, a bell toll,
a light breath, leaves rustling,
a loud cry, a boyish laugh,
a dull rumble, a thin cry,
even our ears are reaching.
From the first move, one day,
when the Word of God turned the worlds,
burning suns, planets, cold moons,
rocks rolling in your deep sleep,
plants being born make, in a second,
run rumors in eternal ways.
And the sound of animals, in various ranges,
in roars, meos, trills and whistles,
flapping wings, fluttering scales,
wading in the woods or by the rivers,
create light or loud noises,
from the little sheep that bleat to the ox that bellows.
And man comes and, in his learning,
feel it welling up in the back of your throat
the sound of your elaborate thinking,
and then he lets out his own voice, and it's so much
the strength of that sound that the air raises,
that in him, finally, the Word is renewed!
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