Feeble the din
as dark settled in,
the soften collision
of moths in a tin;
of sounds I could isolate:
the tiniest feet
and the stiff linen flap
of wings to a beat
and the crush of each lung
against heart, against gut,
and the slice of raw tin
in each visceral cut -
but of all of these noises
the most loathsome one
was the silence I suffered
when noises were gone.
















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