Reflections at Francis Scott Key Park

Today I walked by this miniature labyrinth on my way back from an afternoon in Georgetown.  I simply sat for about seven minutes and wrote these lines.  I watched several people walk through and stare out at the river and look up and the vines, their eyes scaling down the sides of the columns.


Reflections at Francis Scott Key Park

This is musical:

the romance and reticence between

my paper and I.

I like the quiet because

of the sounds it makes.

I like it because its sweeping haze

brought me here

to an umbra of creeping jenny—

a silent striker, a perennial genius.

We are resilient animals

when hiding beneath twig and brush.

The jenny’s leaves are the smallest

and loudest sound in this space;

they move rapidly against

a metronome of wind.

This is the way music sounds

when I’m not hearing anything

but the earth resting and rising again.

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