A Humming || 66/365 - 70/365

Corner of the room,
a small fan hums patiently;
middle of the night,
his songs deepen, fill up rooms
with an assertive presence.

Even now the moon
lingers along the landscape,
hesitant as a
low humming on the edge of
the horizon— just waiting.

A small copse of pines.
Humming with a steady pulse.
Cicada chorus.
Continuous. Even with
the sudden downpour of rain.

hums in this small grey room; while
the unmade bed waits
for revision, the light bulb
burns out without a warning.

Subtractions gathered
at the crossroads, suspended
on telegraph wires—
a migration of darkness
humming, chattering loudly.


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