They are there

Perhaps, I mean definitely, they are there
Surrounding us. Roundness of the mouth
in the first vowel of wonder

I mean a baklava. Not the pistachios but the flakes
Yes, postcards. How they fall from shiny lips
How they laugh when a lover crunch them

I mean a cymbal, for sure a landing platform
The barely touching of it during a pause
on the journey between continents

I mean a rollercoaster. Mountains and valleys
Pianos call them major thirds. Emergency
Ambulance not for medicine but love

I mean faraway snoring of the discoball
You know, Luna, satellite, our moon
at daytime, lullabied by the sun

Maybe, I mean certainly, wonders are there
Always. Just that they are more obvious
when recievers resonate