repetition plagues me.

There is a faint thudding encapsulating my thoughts

I cannot hear anything else.

This dull light that casts the saddened

reflection of my tired hands, is the

only thing that connects my pen to paper.

No.

It is the only thing

that connects me to this room.

If, for somehow, i could detach my

tired gaze from my fluctuating mind

I wouldnt waste that moment, no.

Id hug time and then smash every

Clock within myself, simultaneously, almost devotedly.

Though time has ceased and rain

licks up the frames of my window.

The thudding persists.

Though now it has harshened to

pained sobs and wails, desperate gashes

embed within the walls of my captor.

Revealing the soft flesh of my room,

its tender paint and stucco exposed in a desperate embrace.

I am willing to risk

everything. anything quite possibly.

to taste the glass,

to huff the sweet scent of sticky air and pine.

I am unabashedly entranced

by the still droplets.

And if the shuttering and shivering clouds

that have unsheathed this dying sight upon me,

if those clouds could hear me in this warm, pale room.

I would scream out to them

how their attention tastes like honeyglow.

And i will always crave their adoration

no matter what is unveiled to me.

Crow-dark and crow-hoarse,

Sweeping black trees bend and break,

With a crack they fall,

We walk on,

A river corpse-deep and sure,

Follows us,

Thigh-high grass wilted,

Crack! They freeze,

To grasp with hands,

The feeling is lost, somewhere by a friend,

Somewhere, not close, is this the end?

Dare I hope for more? Or do I wait for it to-

Crack! Another falls, another walks,

I hardly hear them when I step on my own.

Crack goes our hope,

And the sighs, long and known, were soft once,

Not now, now they are hard and they Crack!

To the ground, to the mud,

The rain is new, so the grass rots, and the mud grows,

And the dreams drown,

Heaving one final sigh, one final Crack!

A crow yells, the first person ducks,

The rest follow, the sun is nowhere to be seen,

Footprints, footsteps, ice, dark,

Crack! The crows dive, and

We all fall fast,

Eyes closed, air cold and black,

Crack (is this the end?)

Crack…

listening

will the wind whistle

or will it whoosh?

will the brook babble

or will it gurgle?

will the grass whisper

or will it susurrate?

will the leaves swish

or will they rustle?

will the trees creak

or will they moan?

will the birds sing

or will they mock me?

The wind pushes past me

with a whoosh

and a swish.

I breathe in the smell of the rain

as it pitters,

as it patters.

A puddle of water

splatters

onto my jeans

as I step into it.

To me,

that doesn't matter.

I sigh,

remembering

something that happened

earlier today.

It sounds

kind of

like

the whisper of a secret

or a gentle breeze

quietly synchronizing

with

the

wind.

I wrap my hand

around the door handle

and the door closes

with a satisfying

click.

The carol of the lonely cardinal cries,

Have you listened close enough to hear the tenor of the wind?

Can you find the woodpeckers mellow Metronome?

Do you hear that buzz of the hummingbirds wings?

We must listen close for the drum of a rolling cloud,

Listen close for the pitter of the rain that washes us.

Hear the thunder scream as its fist crashes into the Earth and sky.

Listen for the sharp last breath of prey losing the battle.

Do you hear the last howl of the wolf, before it lays to rest?

That swift mere silence, that the wind plays alone

The quiet that rocks one to rest, a soliloquy of sorrow,

Close your eyes and feel the world, listen to its song

as life and death continue to forever live on.

No music today.

Instead, the incessant “rattle”

of sunglasses against my

Ilia lipstick, shade “At Last”.

As the plugged white cord

“scrapes” the edge of the dash

quietly, yet annoyingly~“rubbing“ and hanging to the floor.

Suddenly, a constant “click, clack”

the green arrow, turning left.

Then, one big “swish, swoosh”

the rain, “swiped” clean;

collecting on the windshield

right after a “spritz”~ sun shower. Light droplets heard as only

just a “pitter”. Pitter turns ”patter”

within the next “tick” of the clock. “Tick, tick”.… another

“swish, swoosh“ is coming near.

It’s raining harder now.

One Egyptian bead “swaying”, slightly “tapping” the

carved wood symbol of Peace;

hanging, “gliding”

to and from the mirror.

Another “click, click, click”, (turning right this time).

“Swish, swoosh“ away more water.

All the droplets pooling

but the blinker keeps “clicking“ long after the turn. “Clunk”.

“Snap” back the handle in place-

a vehicle recall never fixed

(to lazy to call).

“Ahhh” …. a long “yawn”,

for a long day .… “sniff“

(low immune system).

“Swish, swoosh”, my hand leaves the steering wheel once again

to click down the handle.

The rain continues to fall.

Then, my daily reminder,

steady “beeping”,

steady “beeping”

accompanied by

the flashing red image.

”Seatbelt, beep, seatbelt, beep“. “Swiisshh”. Wet pavement tracks, seen in shiny grey reflections.

Swerve, “kerplunk“, the

“da~dum, rattle, da~dum” bumps, uneven car tilts “groans” and “whirls” in the road~

smooth pavement again.

“Whirling“ tires, slowing pads, “whining“ breaks to stop at red.

“Click, click”, blinker turns left

(past the batting cages this time).

“Crack”- fly ball.

“Giggles” and youthful “flirts“ heard through the half open window. “Weeeen wwoooon“ ….

the electric window goes up,

no more rain on the inside handle. No more giggles.

Pay attention to the busy road.

Last turn. No blinker.

Slowing to stop,

car “rattles”~ sunglasses too,

while the wipers keep

“swish, swooshing“ until, “badadadadum” … big “click“

and a sudden jerk into park.

Then the “click” of the keys

turns it all into “silence”.

When you are annoyed the last word of every sentence thuds to a stark halt, you take a breath sucked between the gap in your front teeth and sigh out a whistle after the thought has been doled out to the person responsiblue for your irritation.

You don’t think people see you

I see you.

When you are sad, your whole body seems to go to sleep. and all the while your awake eyes scan your surroundings. You are shadows in a crowded room, the only sound coming is the occasional

“Mmmhmm.”

“Ahhh.”

And then sigh that sings low and sweet from your mouth.

You don’t think people hear you.

I hear you.

When you are happy you like to hum, nonsensical tunes in a low steady thrum, the melody lost on everyone, but you know the innate song within the joy you’ve found. You clasp

your hands as if in prayer with a thunderous clap, and breathe a steady inhale of awe. In that moment you are full of the wonder you’ve always held, yet never dared express aloud.

You don’t think people know you.

I know you.

So when you feel as if no one knows the soul you possess and the quiet seems suffocate, look around you-

I see you.

I hear you.

And I know all of you.

Whooooosh,

splash,

thump,

thump,

thump,

bluuuurp,

gurgle,

thump,

thump.

Silence.

Screeeeech,

shouts,

“Oh dear,”

Oh dear.”

He was strictly told to call it the woods or the woodland. "Forest, just does not seem the right word to describe it," Elynn said when they discussed it that morning. Now, he understood. Now that he was here, he could hear the music. "Can you hear it," she asked as looked back at him. He nodded, assuming that she was looking at him, he had his eyes shut so that he could focus on the music.

"This is it, this is place that Willaim described in his poems. This sound, its like magic, can't explain it."

"I know Ovhelio, it is like the woods have a heart beat. A heart beating like a harp string. It reminds me of the harp that my father played when we were younger." Ovelio listened again, he did recognize it. They kept walking up the path. Ovelio, not used to working another, but the regular clerical work that he did nearly all day everyday, was sweating a river, but he wanted to see wanted else Elynn was excited about. The path that they were walking up was clearly marked, and it was paved a like a road with small gray pebble stones. His shoes causing the path to ring out, but that ringing became part of the rythm of the woods. That was part of the beauty of the music, it had regular rhthm that played against his own heartbeat, but the sounds all around him seemed to only add to the mussic.

The cries of the birds, and the creaking of the tree branches, and the rush of the stream next to the hill that they were ascending all added their own music. Ovhelio sometimes seemed to hear someone playing pipes, but, no matter how he turned his head, he could not find the players. Elynn was humming the forest tune as well. "Elynn?" He said. "when did you discover this parts of the woods. I have been out to these woods a few times, but I have never found this place."

Elynn stopped walking and sat on a rock by the trail before answer. Ovelio, pleased for the break, also quickly sat down to catch his breath. "I know!" she said, "I have been wondering about that myself, but I feel like this is an older woodland. Those other trees that your brothers hunt around while you have faithfully doing your work probably grew aounrd this one, like a shield." She pointed to the closest tree. "I mean look, does that seem like the kind of tree that was on the outskirts of the woods." The tree she was pointing to was an elm, he knew this from his studies, but she was right. There were no elms of on the outer edge of the forest. There were plenty of other trees, but, Ovelio looked around to be sure, elms were everyway.

"You're right. These trees are elms, and they seem to be mostly here while the outer parts of the woods are lacking them. It is strange."

"Strange indeed," she said as she stood up and walked over to the closest tree, but these trees are even stranger. Come here." She waved him over to the tree that she leaned into to put her ear against the bark of the tree. "Listen," she whispered.

Ovelio walked over to the tree and put his ear to the tree as well. There was music coming from the tree, like it was humming.

A Bull Frog called

Across the lake

He Caught her ear

And

She flew out her window

Visiting him

Trains whistle

summoned her

....

Come away

Come away

From these small town thoughts

Listen!!!

Her Gaurdian angel said

And I quote

'One as dear as you

Who hears the Angels Song

must sojourn'

So She Did

Until she heard her

Own voice

And followed that Sound