Derek Still by Laurence A Breiner
“ore legar populi” - Ovid
The pages of the sea still turn
And the leaves of the trees.
The feathers of birds still rustle in the wind.
But there is a stillness, a muting, something missed.
Where is the voice that tolled out the names in the sea,
Intoned the oracles scratched on the Sybil’s leaves,
And chronicled the cities fled or flown to?
Take up the volume; turn up the volume.
Read him to your child, your lover,
To strangers encountered,