Friday, April 26, 2019


At the other end
of my headphones
and the world,
I see a small child in a forest.
Curled around his Walkman,
he doesn’t hear the rain
falling in two stages,
sheeting onto the tree canopy,
pillowing in larger drops
onto his scant roof,
as he falls asleep listening
to the sound of the traffic
on El Camino Real.

Together we listen
for the same thing:
something we are
hidden within
something we are not.

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