Miracle Strange

You’ve gathered your collection
Of miniature voices
Arranged in tidy boxes,

All labeled and beribboned
And stacked up in your closet,
Ready to talk when opened.

And if no one opens them,
And none of them are chosen
As internal spokespersons

For minds come to adore them,
What then? May a volcano
Belch ashes to bury them!

May a mudslide crush your house
And make their closet a tomb!
May all your tiny voices

Wait quietly in the dark
However many ages,
Until the unimagined

And unimaginable
Audience discovers them
And finds the miracle strange.