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)