I looked at my doorknob, and suddenly I saw it.
What else am I missing? When I pay attention,
I feel the heft of a red brick, feel milkweed floss,
soft as an earlobe — air inside my mouth.
Bird music, butterfly wings hush.
My next breath carries scent.
I can hear the sound bouncing around in silence.
I see the face inside a magnolia blossom, and notice
the power of a squirrel’s jaw crunching acorns.
Surprise of a crack of a baseball bat,
the scritch of skin torn off a tangerine.
Everything around me is growing and dying,
doing its thing just a little bit at a time —
I wonder if I can hear the last gasp of a man hanged?
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Milton Erlich would be pleased to hear them.