The house creaks some
Bird squawks loud and long--
Both a form of sighing in relief
That all machines have finally turned off.
Now you can hear what nothing sounds like.
The silence is deafening,
So sweet a bird can’t help but sing,
The house a long exhale.
Black dark night makes ears ring,
Ushering in the changing of the guard.
The eyes, straining to make sense
Of nothing when even the moon has left
Its post, must listen harder.
Ears will do the looking now.
Some breeze
Rolling through town like a visiting pilgrim
Drops the credentials of a skunk
On it’s way by.
Noses twitch,
As if that could help
What isn’t heard and can’t be seen.
The house lets out another sigh
And even as these old bones creak
I never hear the stones cry out,
Until I lay me down to sleep.
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