Wind moves-

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.

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