Wind moves the curtain
parting them like,
waves of a dark ocean.
Outside is the chirping
of some random, accidental birds.
and the humming of a motorcycle-
somewhere-starts up briefly
but like a ghost, it vanishes into thin air-it floats away.
Next, is the hum of an overhead airplane,
miles and miles,
high in the sky away.
If I listen closely I can hear-
a car door close-slam shut OR
a fence gate open then close.
The ruff and rumble,
the cleft and tremble,
the melody of noises-musing into
a highway of imagery.
It’s a narrative of sorts.
On a boring summers day,
and then the curtains stopped moving.
They allow the heat to come in.