If I listen carefully, I can still hear it.
Barely audible beneath the boorish
Drone, my voice is shrill and bright
Like a child's. Not much caring who's
Listening or even if the words make
Sense, my voice trills around the
Knee high world of table legs and
Creepy-crawlies, socks with clips
And carpet grips. I hear it best when
I too crouch down and touch the
Grass or squeeze small pebbles in
The palm of my hand.