The Sound At Twilight
The sky is dull blue and the branches
Still plush with leaves, darken
I sit on the porch, tired of the day
Waiting for that infernal mower next door
To shut down
Waiting for quiet, for the time of exhale
And the mower finally stops
But there is no silence
The sound that was always there
But that the mower hid
rises, envelops and engulfs
seeming to increase
with every ratcheting pulse
How could I have forgotten this
The noise of the ten thousand insects
in the grass and trees
is everywhere
As if it were the very sound of the planet turning
the friction of the globe against the sky
Or the song of the very soil
As if a day never ended any other way.
copyright 2014
Home Economics 