Real Sounds

Listen. There's something
just at the edge of sound.
Rhythm. Or maybe it's music,
I hold my breath but it comes no closer.
The ghost of a whisper
or the whisper of a ghost
the echoes of unread poems
from a book on the shelf
or a train whistle blowing
on the tracks they tore up years ago.
Listen again
to the unborn, the unspoken
the long gone--
waves on the shore of the Martian sea
fires on the dark side of the moon
wind in the trees of Zimiamvia.
Listen, it's a sound that's as real
as the inside of your head.


If you like poetry, check out the weekly prompt site at Totally Optional Prompts