When I listen to the faces

 

               I know I am myself not much

               Often wrong I see

               So I listen

              

               In each face a wrinkle whispers

               A crinkled nose crackles    As

               Through the eyes a song endures

              

   Slowly leading to the person

               To who the person is

               The soul beneath that gathers

               Each piece of the person into one

 

               And in the listening

               We each make ourselves possible

                And in each day of doing

                small miracles of life emerge

        When I listen to the faces

(poem in progress)