This is not the sound of an ambulance sending its omens calling.
This is not my life- shattering crucible with its hot fluid burden.
This is not my stop and you won't tell me where to get off.
This is not a hopeful situation, my scared stupid found dumb looks
and cast-iron idols,
my insecure voodoo dolls clutching at their ******* buried headfirst in sand.
These are not mine.

This is not a math problem; it will always add to an improper sum.
This is not a miracle. This is not a ghost.
This is not a reflection in parabolic distortion
this chatter has nothing to do with thought.

shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Count how many things are blue.
How many balloons are in the room?
Light a candle and still the flame.
Clear the mind of intrusive thought.

Strike the bell and listen for the moment
between sound and silence.
Why is the dark sky at night black?
What is the nature of blue?

Finally. A question with an answer.
When, amidst the immensity of all things, she
exhales; the sound is tremendous.
It is a sound that has an end.