Ears & Voice

My ears, forever refusing
to sleep alongside my eyes.
Restless,
they long for a voice.

An eternally sweet voice,
seasoned by Mediterranean's golden sun,
borne from Delphi's prophecy,
bursting forth ever since.

In the veins of spring's grass,
in the autumnal dew,
in the wintry fog,
in the tree trunks

its there biding its time
to meet my ears.
The air can't carry,
for it lacks the art.

Maybe I hear it,
I hear it all the time,
in orotund baritones,
in your honeysuckle voice.