my ears are tired.
my mountain is quiet.
i can hear the sunrise
and i can hear the
sunset. but the crow
must sit on my shoulder
when he talks to me,
unless he is finishing
the peanuts in my hand.
then he will stare at me
and i can hear his smile.
he tells me what’s happening
in the sky and what’s
happening in the corn.
he brings me a nickel
and he brings me a
dime. he drops them
in my purse. soon i will
be rich and i will buy
more peanuts and a
needle and some thread,
to sew patches on my
britches. in my brain
a harmonica moans,
a train rattles on and
the river is rising. in
my heart the moon is
weeping and the levy
is breaking. when my
world is silent i will
hear the angels sing.
