“as if listening itself were to become a state of utterance:
in me, it is the ear which speaks.” –Roland Barthes
when the day’s
traumas trouble
your sleep like
pebbles dance
down a stream
hush then wait
for silence to rise
through you
like butterflies
in a dance
hush then wait
for the falderal
to settle
like silt sifts
to the river’s bottom
hush then wait
for the bat’s high
lyric cries
to call out
for something other
than the dark
hush then wait
for our walls
to reflect their
edges back
edges back
and whisper
not me not
me again
into the permeable
spaces we share
(March 9, 2015)
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