My Only Soul Poem by Damian Mac

it looks dark and involved
something plays the flute and the melodies,
uninvited swim around our ears
in this garden, it breaks the day and
we will listen to the grass breathe.

it wakes up at dawn, sees those planes,
and their watery trails so far and above
but it goes no further, than the beats
and the beats in this garden,
so pristine and fresh.
between the seven-four-seven and
the little slug, whose trail
lasts longer?