The melodic jingle is a violent reminder
that I am not where I am supposed to be.

The cacophony haunts the cul-de-sac;
whispering, whimpering, "you're temporary."

They signal a force that we can not see,
a warning we dismiss as background beauty.

I worry when they chime too loud,
that they may break -
fractured shards scatter across miles.

I worry in their silence,
that they may forget to warn me
that fragile frames fall down quickly.

But in their absence or their presence,
the persistent winds remain.

So it doesn't make a difference.
If I float away, I float away.