Summary: A reflection on listening carefully to what a creative work actually carries, allowing room for correction, and keeping the simple parts that remain clear.

I called across the water in the rain,
The hills sent back a little of the strain.
Some words came home, some wandered out of sight,
I held the ones that reached me through the night.

Say it slowly, let it ring,
Hear the heart of everything.
Not the sound we hoped to hear,
But the small true note still clear.

We set the cup upon the kitchen shelf,
And let the quiet answer for itself.
A crooked handle still could hold the tea,
A little care could show what it could be.

Say it slowly, let it ring,
Hear the heart of everything.
Not the sound we hoped to hear,
But the small true note still clear.

At dawn we took the softer path uphill,
The echo left us something warmer still.
A song is more than all we meant to say,
We listen, and we learn another way.