Flute Talk

My flute talks to me
as a tree talks to the earth,
a swaying gesture of bare branch
conducting songs
of fallen December leaves.

My flute sings to me
as a canyon wren's cascading call
on a bright December day
breaks the heart of rock
and makes a river weep.

My flute weeps to me
on a hungry, homeless night
from a cold December street
through the cardboard walls
of forgotten prayers.

And from a distant desert
desecrated by war, my flute
prays to me as I pray to Creator
on this long December night, Lord
make me an instrument of your peace.