by Donald Brandis
trees most stubborn persist
their silence is linked hands
among these campsites
no notice? watch
it run beneath screaming children’s
tiny gap between urge and act
boat unzipping the lake
birdcall sound of plates scraped
of seeds spit against a tin roof
wheeze lift sighing straining
bowel tones of single passing cars
slow around a road all bends and trees
narrow hum of insects too small
too fast to be identified
filed in a closet of known sounds
that intriguing in-gathered almost-sound
of trees like a single long-held note
on in-breath, on out-breath
clever bastards
if I’d had a hundred years
with nothing else to do
an unsound measured by what
it has outlasted, what
it’s shed though strangely
other shorter higher sounds
- this one would be deepest bass -
hang on it like notes on a spindle
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