The wind chimes
Hang outside my window
And when the breeze is low
I can barely hear them.

My ears are deaf
But my heart is held
By their quiet, soft, round tone.
They melt into that hollow.

Every morning
Before the world begins its clamor
And the responsibilities click in place
I am held by unspoken beauty.

Even at noon
When the wind is still
And the chimes hang limp
The beauty of hope remains.

And in the evening
When the cool and breeze return
My heart is reminded.
I find I am held, still.