Soundscape (3)

by


i remind her of how i live

amongst book shelves

jam jars – plastic bags – & every morning

 

sliced haloes are fed to the children

 

 

she wants what i speak – & i remember

the engraved anxieties of being up close – of last night’s

 

experiment of sleeping under the honeysuckle

of choosing the right star cluster to fill a mouth

 

she interprets a fragile piece of me

 

but i am deaf to the sky’s morning rumblings

 

the garden’s stuttering greenery

 

the children burrowing through fallen fruit

 

i am deaf to her hands talking fiercely in mine

 

 

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