Sounds wrapped in clean cotton,
an old man turning off his hearing aid,
mouths like deep sea fishes,
swallowed on currents of whisper.
Splashing children, those treble mutterings--
little radios keeping
company to an empty house.
Bubble music from
an ice cream truck
and bleating gulls--
dampened by the glass wall
you’ve fashioned around yourself,
the only noise that matters--
a vacuum of throb and push,
the warp and weft of blood
as it pulses through your inner ear.