By Merle Molofsky
Three sounds cause the rosebud to unfold and part,
The sleeping beast to waken;
Three rhythms cause the soul to flutter and start.
The tambourine of summer leaves wind-shaken,
Inner pulse of rushing blood,
The shot-gun cry of birds in mid-flight taken.
We listen to syncopated trees in wood,
To winging deaths of fleet birds,
The lilting pulse of the body’s salt red flood.
Hear the poet’s love of words,
Harpist’s love of minor thirds.
The drifting shore of love we learn to chart
Reveals the salt and meat of animal heart.
Merle Molofsky, psychoanalyst and poet, serves on the boards of IFPE and NAAP and the editorial board of The Psychoanalytic Review. Articles in The Psychoanalytic Review, Journal of Religion of Health.