I love the sound of living-
ice cubes clinking in an empty glass
the gentle creak of an opening door
baby sleeping, whisper breathing.
Drapes swishing open
to let morning ooze in,
and whispered “I love you’s”
into long distance telephones.

I hate the sound of people
giving up, giving in
that ugly squash of a leather
bootprint
as a dictator takes the stand.
Or that horrible thing called
crying
that simmers and steeps itself
like tea
dripping, white pear acid
on war-torn soil and blood.

I love the sound of forgiveness
Knowing some things will be alright
a kettle whistling on the stove
at midnight
to nullify nightmares still moist
And blanketed words traveling
wrinkled water;
a helpless hand reaching

Savior.

Sweet, whistling
savior.