Bloom into echoes

Listening, I am blown upon, embers.
Oh, lay on a log, story.
Bring that sound, uptake of air,
breath into and through the valve,
the transmutation, the deliverance —
into relation, the fitting of valley to its river,
to what calls through them both.
That’s where I ask to stand in witness,
what I ask to churn before,
the basin where my wailing blooms into echoes.