orange leaf, by George McHenry of Transit Notes
I want to praise him.
Loud as a trumpet
in the vanguard of an army,
I will run ahead and proclaim.
My words will be sweet to hear.
My people will drink them in like wine
and not get drunk.
And on moonless nights, when few remain
around my tent, I will make music as soft
as a last warm wind that hovers
late and tender before the winter's chill.
So my voice becomes both a breath and a shout.
One prepares the way, the other
surrounds my loneliness with angels.
The Book of Hours III, 11