In the silence of the morning
While you remain asleep upstairs, there is
Laundry mumbling. One car
Passing by in sudden noise.
Trees, I hear their presence.
I hear blood streaming in my ears.
Soundless birds float over houses.
Already the day has told me
All I should know: trees can talk
By means of storm; my streaming blood
Speaks in a humming way; there is
A choice to listen or to not to what they say
And you can be asleep until it’s noon:
Upstairs, unaware of voice, but sound.