Michael Theroux
The Deepest Song
A dozen hours away, the land opens up Water cuts its route in a long stony gash As seen from the top: “The Canyon”. Ah, but standing surrounded, deep within this right and proper home for the Grand Colorado The walls become mountains, cupping a Valley. Places claim a part of us, wrapping around some corner of our soul. Adding a patina … Forever reshaped, freshly colored. Forever changed. The Canyon is such: those that tune to that deep melody will hear the song, forever All else may fade, but that one note, resilient. Tuned to those harmonies, that discord, we carry the essence beyond time, distance Distance can dilute, But never displace. Music can enrage, can bring back calm evoke emotion beyond thought, reason or control Such is the River’s song, deep in its Valley. Behind my daily noise, under my breathing alongside my heartbeat, there’s a counterpoint song Composed continually by sand, water, willow and wind. Thrumming softly as background, a sub-rhythm. But ‘ware the volume: the closer I get to those sheltering walls, the less else I hear. Drop me back in, and years would fall away My strength to keep my distance, shed like snakeskin. You put me back on the River I’ll bawl, like a baby. |
Michael Theroux writes from Northern California; his career has spanned field botanist, environmental health specialist, green energy developer and resource recovery web site editor. Now in his 70s, Michael is seeking publication of his deep cache of art writings. Many may be found, or will soon be seen, in Down in the Dirt, Ariel Chart, 50WS, CafeLit, Poetry Pacific, Last Leaves, Backwards Trajectory, Small Wonders, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Preservation Foundation / Storyhouse, Cerasus, The Acedian Journal, the Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Wild Word, and Fixator Press.