Soundscape (3)


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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