Today's poem is by George Looney

Music Left by Another

The gecko survives by clinging.
Nights in the desert,
its toes hold to cliff faces

or the trunks of cacti. It hums
to mark its territory.
The gecko's delicate feet feel

vibrations left by others' music.
A gecko can fall in love
with the music left by another

in stone and cling there
for days, stone itself
but for breath. The gecko

ritualizes concentration. When
its feet listen, nothing
else is real. Some say it has

only survived because insects
worship it, sacrificing
themselves in its entranced mouth.

They say the insects feel their bodies
encased by music, swallowed.
A dream gecko clings to your ribs

listening to music your heart
has left in what
it mistakes for young stone.

This gecko is falling in love
with your music,
starving itself to stone.

Copyright © 2005 George Looney All rights reserved
from The Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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