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.

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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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