Music

Over the phone his voice is
the smallest part of a man who
fills door frames, towers and leans
like trees. But his laughter leaps
through the line, spreading outside,
touching tips of pines, the talon of an owl.
Startled from its reverie the bird rises
ponderously, wings softly sifting,
the sound of waves rising to the
clean stars, mingling and ringing,
the owl's and the man's music.