Echoes in a chamber are heard
only when given the space to reverberate,
the time to develop,
the pause to listen.
Each heart is a labyrinth.
I spend much time padding through the tunnels:
inviting, lined with ornate diversions
(they look an awful lot like Truth).
I’ve only caught a glimpse of the chamber at the center.
I heard a reverberation once, maybe twice,
but turned to walk another tunnel and forgot the sound it made:
something of a duty, a burden, a care.
Yet had I paused to listen,
I might have learned to share.
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