Sense

Before we were babies our ears
heard what our chests and backs
felt without much of a sense
of hearing and had to be born
to tell a vowel from a stop.

The laboratory and the playground of
our reachings out and our explorings
in the dark pathways and sinews
through cogitations and emotions
is the mountain meadow of family.

The tongue learns if it is exposed
enough and instructed by subtle
delicate distinctions and the blessed
contrasts nature planted inside
that most sensitive slab.

There is no sense without connection
between extremity and tectonic
core spoken impulses plugged in
taught hunger critical symphonic
wired to caring for tomorow.

Do we humans have an organ
for seeing time where there is none
for sniffing out the truffle of love
from dirty roots of self-interest
for putting another’s heart to rest?

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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