by Bruce W. Niedt

Where I live,
in this quiet pocket of
congested civilization,
even on a still night,
windless, moonless
or moon

there is a constant hum,
subliminal roar, a rumble
like blood rushing in the ears,
coagulation of sounds
just over the threshold

traffic, planes, air conditioners,
thunder, music, radio waves,
clouds sliding through thick air,
plates of the earth groaning

and the murmur of souls
only one week removed,
already receding
into the noise.

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