The kind that rings in my head.
The silence that causes my ears to pose as radar dishes
picking up any nuance or tinkling scuff of a noise.
Out of the ordinary or familiar,
each sound shouts like fire to my burning.
There are no extinguishing these flames,
only the watering space between the vibratory feel
of this physical plane and maybe something
just out of touch, but coming closer,
riding the waves of the barely almost heard.
Blanketed and cozied, refracted and resplendent,
I allow myself to sink into the brink of a ledge
with unseen leaps.
mj poem and photo
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