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Who can hear the pause
of the hush between the ripples
on a pond newly frozen
in the moonfall of the night?
Who can feel no difference
in the silence that precedes
the knock upon the door from
the certainty that follows?
If the answer to all answers
of the question that propels us
be not you whose star is hitched
so clear and bright upon your shoulder
and whose audiences ovate
from the tiers that rise around you
then this riddler who poses
like a harlequin before you
must remove her silver jingles
and her silent red felt slippers
and resort to coarser merriments
in hopes that you will leave
behind the shadow
of the question,
who will hear?
~~~
© Elaine Stirling, 2014
Oceantics 
There were questions here that evoked a mirrored response.
I can hear the lacuna
of still drum heads under sticks
held still above tanned hides
like moth wings in the light.
I can feel notes vibrate
before the valves are pressed
or slide extended with exhaled
breathless tones without question.
Some answers have no questions
but none the less are asked
and awarded accolades of mythic
shining repeating points
that spear pupils of listening
from eyelids that creak open
when the trickster dons
coyote cape and howl
but sheds clear cowl
of moonbeams and
chases ghosts of dancing
braves who run between
thirsty rising suns,
I will hear.
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That’s an interesting response, Russel, and I mean the word in its better sense, as in natural, or Nature-driven…the kind where silent creatures perk their ears, and storytellers who keep their distance from “explainers” draw closer.
I am reminded of Nagual teachings that speak of shadows as sentient, independent beings. Your poem takes that metaphor further with the concept of shadows (and/or echoes) able to converse.
I especially love the metaphor of spearing pupils and its spin into Coyote medicine. Thank you for this.
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