Alive in this encrusted moment
of tasting, feeling,
seeing, listening to
the air.

Loud pressure, always,
to speed up, get loud,
rock out.

No.

Rip a hole in that noise
and crawl through
to where
depths
are transcended through
details.

What to bring back
through the hole —
nothing.
Don’t speak of it.
Leave it for
revisiting, as ancient pottery
should be left in place
when found in
the forest.
One day, someone will ask
if there is still a forest
beyond the noise,
and then you will be able to
show them the hole and
they’ll hear you say
yes.