Rush

     It’s strange how voices can sound, sometimes

like the wind in the rustling trees

when you take in a thought

the sounds of people

(who really live in a range of just six degrees)

and absorb the sounds of their telephone calls

sport cheers and ear-piercing screams;

combine them together and then listen close;

it’s a buzz like a thousand caged bees.

And, it’s like

today I knelt in a riverbed

I rolled my jeans up close to my knees

and I screened your words like gold

but came up dry

when I quieted the sounds of the bees

all the muted sounds lived on

in the buildings and airplanes and seas

but I

in my watch with my telescope eyes:

I didn’t come up with a thing