Silence is the page sifted
for Ondaatje or Cohen who
could give voice to harsh sensations one may push through.
A million pages fall between the couch cushions
A million more to go
At least the canopy is warm and the lights keep his voice wet
There was a concert hall this boy played inside
a hall for any parent who wanted to know
what children sound like.
Those same sounds fill his skin
every missed note or busted reed
voice enough sensation to keep the Earth spinning
so the birds can reach my door.
I need to know,
now more than ever,
if the birds can hear my thoughts
so they know when not to sing.
That same boy could listen this city laugh every year
Funny how the space between words
is enough to set the room ablaze
Pushed through to make a joke, or
harsh enough to break it.
Funny how big this city is
Funny how as the city gets bigger,
his world shrinks.
The computer could make another world.
Squeezed from the canopy,
he pulls from the fruit of the indentured
and types away at whatever he can’t keep quiet.