
It’s quieter this morning
white noise some hum a random creak pops here there
far away celestial cries – more song than shout
barely heard murmur above the proscenium
along the back space you carve.
I dive to a hollow center and find it even quieter,
save the lone chanter, still strong on feeling.
I spin
till I’m dizzily drizzled;
my, such cute little bongos.
© Chagall 2014
