There was a muttering of three distinct sounds.
It came from breathe and moved mountains.
Expanded galaxies and realigned solar systems.
Neighbors glanced and bounced off each other
Embracing for even just the breadth of a time as a peck on the cheek,
to acknowledge the other's existence, and then naturally,
and absent of sound, from it, beam.

The first sound resonated with the original,
the creator.
The crumb inside the cookie, inside the jar that had once been sealed tightly from persisting hands and now remained open. For all hands and fingers to have and hold, embrace and enjoy.
A breathe of fresh air to stale crumbs.
A part of the whole sweet treat, but a taste of sweetness in itself.
No wonder it will take just the one.

The second sound, an echo, a reverberation of harmonies that wax and wane,
only to come back together once again. A beautiful melodious dance of highs and lows,
passion and compassion.
An expansion, no doubt
From bead to sea.
A power in the drop that builds oceans and destroys walls with a pulse
(of glee).

The final sound, the mirror of the first, a pyramid and prism of colors,
reflecting in order the exact pigments you wish to behold,
sunset reds and a rise of orange.
Deep wines and blanketed blues.
A comfort of hues.

So difficult and yet so effortless, to create such a vibration from that place.
A place filled with lights, of greens, and whites, and sparkles in the night.
And then to stare off at one running across the dark sky
and know,
that with a simple three,
I love you,
moved galaxies.

More at: Roots Poetry