Our raucous parade is over;
hosannas waft into the cloudy sky.
Hush.
What do you hear?
The choir’s last suspended note.
Bird song.
Cars and semis rumbling down 29.
An Amtrak whistle.
March winds swishing pine needles.
A sluggish wasp in flight.
The constant buzz of tinnitus.
Put those sounds aside.
Listen.
The mountains, rocks, and stones
are cheering.
a poem for Palm/Passion Sunday 2016
by Rachel Horsley
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