Calling

So many times I have called on the night wind.
Waiting, listening for your voice to call back,
Hearing it's echoes in the wind in the leaves,
The cicada in the magnolias,
The singing of the stars in the high Aspen branches,
The crystalline silence of a winter night,
The rush of a spring rain flowing,
becoming a torrent between the swollen banks,
The frogs calling, calling in the warm spring dusk.
Each of these,
A whisper across the ethers.
But waiting,  waiting still, for your voice to sing back to me across time and space.
Is it? Is it you?