I heard through the wild brush. Two rings
calling, I heard it through the fire.
The crackle and snow,
through midnight sleep while I tire.
I heard a bit past twelve. Two cracks
caught, on the other side.
Footsteps crinkled
the carpet, the tile, and a screech, a divide
came through the door, spotted and brittle.
in the floor, breaks in the rain.
more rings to whistle away.
Trapped in a room, padded from floor to ceiling,
A whistle through the stitches, through the space
under the door, dreaming.
My back against the wall, my head in the corner,
a melody. Rings in motion, music to sleep to, splitting
the silence unevenly.
I heard in my bones. As I drone and groan,
perpetuating the dust that choked my moans
I heard it through sweat.
The whistle and blow, A ringing too sweet
to dance and forget.
One more whistle, I heard above all.
A chirp, a chide, a violin’s voice,
a release out in the hall.

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