Thoreau's Flute

by Amy Belding Brown

He only plays
heartbeat music --
leaves vaulting
in the wind
coins of pure light
falling in the forest
of his dreams
Passion is the harp
he strings his life upon.
Don't be fooled
to thinking that
you've heard
his song before.
Each note meets air
newborn, and pristine
as angels.
There is no path
through these woods.
You must break your
own blind trail,
harkening all the way.

February 26, 2000

Copyright © Amy Belding Brown