Like the turning of a screw,
you can hear it. Wind-transported,
a change in the weather.
A friend’s breath in a quiet room.
Noticeable, just enough. Little signals,
you can hear them, no ambulance whine.
Smalltown café a tangle
of autumnal discussion. The alphabet
recited backwards, audible swill.
Refrigerator’s one consonant.
Comfort in repetition. Comfort
in repetition, you can hear it
coming in, a toddler-tumble, a thud
unignorable. Here again, you will say,
upon me like a birthday.*