Hotel rooms.

Hotel rooms.

Did you call

Was that your voice

Murmured in the dark

Whispered through walls

Trickled in the dust

From a crack

In the ceiling

Amplified in silence

As the flutter

Of a moth circling a glowing lamp

Mumbled in the falling water

Rattling the

Rusted fittings of old pipes

The mournful note

Of a horn in the fog

I see no ships

Did you fly with

The white dove

Fidgeting on a window sill

Tip tapping on the glass

Is it the

Bearer of great tidings

How would I know

Its coo muffled

By the noise

Of cicadas seventeen years

In the waiting

And all they do is call

From one tree to another

How do they know

It is their mate listening

Is there a message

In their cacophony

Only meant for me

What can they say

That I might need

To understand

Perhaps if I can

Listen more closely

Dissolve into a miasma

Of acceptance and bliss

Meaning will be revealed

In the moment

Of surrender.