from in this world
previous to ours
I have a small group of friends and perhaps a few
followers. They care about whether I watch dark
lights splinter on the horizon. The ways they stay
are many, but they are always there, listening
and silent. Keepers of sound who absorb into
color—black. A color made of sounds. What
sounds did black absorb? Or what suns? Because nuclear
explosion makes such trembling noise space would divide;
perhaps that’s what happened at the beginning when
I thought I was once alone. But when detected,
a diaphony of frequency high and low.
Depth, thrown here, to disappear into threnody.