Pan

By Marian Glaser

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I hear Pan piping on his syrinx,

surpassing Apollo’s stately notes with his wild melodies.

He’s heard in spite the muffling sounds of

blaring horns, growling engines, arguing voices.

He’s free to run and play in the patches of

wild wood remaining.

He pipes a symphony, reflecting

the different sizes of trees, bushes, flowers,

animals, the moon, stars, sun,

spring, summer, winter, fall.

He sings of the joy of sex,

blue-eyed mountain lion cubs playing like kittens,

golden cats with green eyes,

pandas munching bamboo shoots contemplatively

almost rivaling the ecstasy of gorillas eating rose-buds.

His song is hypnotic, multi-faceted, endless.

He sings on and on,

celebrating every aspect of life.

I want to listen until earth fills my ears,

letting each note throb through me.