DURING MEDITATION by Mandy Kahn

During meditation,
I listen to the sound that’s 
always ringing--
          the high bells of creation.

When I asked my mother
what that sound was--
I’d listen, as a small child,
in my bedroom—she told me
there was nothing.

I begged
she listen with me--
          and we listened--

I heard the air was tolling
like a gold bell--

she told me there was nothing.

Now
I spend my mornings
hearing carefully
all aspects of that pealing

          it takes all time to make--

on its low end, buzzing 
of a lit world--
a kind of bare wire hanging--
          the electric shock that is--

higher, a kind of
holy ringing--

higher, 
crystal singing--

          the song that water makes
          in air--


mist that climbs the waterfall’s
high cresting--

          and billows colors--

                    a mist that alters.

I listen to that sound
and it grows bigger--

          what undergirds us
                    becomes a river.

Gonging, dinging, chiming,
and the friction
of all things rubbed together--

it’s this
that loops the weather--

most days, 
it is too quiet to measure--

some days, it’s an ether--
for the taker--

          its high unrolls 
          forever--