It gathers beneath somewhere and drones
with throbbing vibration that seems so single
humming underneath our awareness each evening –
the faintest of sound crescendos to loud

They begin their chant and we sense it simply as
familiar back-chatter without meaning or nuance;
yet they sing in multitudinous voice and volume
as we casually sift through our meddling minds

Would that you count off your number and place;
how unknown you remain from our silly cognition –
in stillness you speak with symphonic subtleties
all those detailed levels of boring engagement

I’d like to lie on that sound as if it were my bed
wafting and rising in pretended tone-deafness…
If I’m not careful I’ll tumble headlong into dullness,
what such rest could give is benign of sense.

                                                                                                                                   tpt 8/30/17