The war is a thief

of cries of despair, stealing --


until it's dead still.

War: I run away,

then it steals the sounds I have --


not taken with me.

We decided to take a walk.
If the moon and stars still existed,
they were hidden behind clouds.

Then a fog hit us like a wave, a cloud
that had run out of gas and crashed on us,
to further shrink the perceptible world.

Ordinary, walking people became vague
phantoms that could loom, in film noir
black and white out of the fog,
suddenly sharpen and colorize,
only to disappear again in moments.

Sounds, out of sync, or garbled, came sharply
from odd angles, turning that fifth sense unreliable.
Noises, at first muted, were abruptly amplified as
if the hand of that ghostly vapor ran a soundboard.

A man, moving in stalker-like silence, clops,
like a clydesdale on cobblestone as he passes close.

I half expected a distant fog horn to announce
the passing of a ghost ship where all be welcome.

I went down to watch the ocean this morning - well, Long Island Sound anyway. My last chance for a while, classes start tomorrow. I wonder sometimes how I can be refreshed by that gray, drizzly, melancholy harbor - locked in winter’s intemperate grip - but I am.

The salty air seems thicker and richer, the sky bigger and wilder. There’s the relaxing sound mix of wave and gull. The ugly brown pelicans bickering like old, married couples, as a lone fisherman, in his yellow macintosh slicker, sorts his boat lines under the watchful, hopeful, hungry eyes of floating black-backed gulls.

Maybe I should become a sailor? Besides, I hear it’s a great way to meet guys.

We've been... a... part... so long;
We've not been... to...gether, a... lone.
Together alone.

I hear the lonely house sounds
Of dripping, creaking, and window wind whoshes;
The semi-muted fiber optic sounds;
The various vehicles dopplering past.
These I hear in my fractured second,
Before asking, "How ye doin?"
Which shatters into glass the silence
Held too long between us.
But now we are alone, together, alone.
A silent alone, together.

What was that. A knock?
Sssh!
Listen.
I heard something.
Was it the wind, scratching across my pane?
The pine tree branch thumps its fingers.
Squirrels, racoons and mice scurry over my roof.
My porch light is a beacon of revelation.
The doors are locked against friend or others.
I will wait.
Fall asleep.
Dream.
A hut on an island in the blue,
No ghostly memories.

Beckon unto me with thine
Angel-voice so soft
In heavenly song that doest
Elevate mine soul aloft
Amongst the myriad of blissful
keys I rejoice
Alas!
I've transcended to God's kingdom
by the sweet sound of thine voice

...the city at 4AM

...pages turning slowly

...a sigh of relief

...a heart beating

...the inaudible neighborhood

...leaves falling

...pen touching the paper

...the rain

...the silence after the rain

...the silence

...silence

...ssshh