By repetition it escapes us:
the dishwasher’s cycling, the radio’s drone,
the whine of sirens over the shuffle of traffic
inhibit alarm by repetition.
in the deep recess of impression
the same damaged record spins
until we no longer notice the crackle
because it is too familiar.
Listen: I give you quiet,
the soft carpet of diminished volume,
trade winds whispering over the hush
of no sound now, no sound
but your heart pumping
and your lungs filling.
Forget the clamor of seagulls
and hear instead
the rhythmic throbbing of the surf
sliding on polished sand.
Listen to the dark remembrance
of your own Atlantis
wreathed in kelp and coral.
Beneath the green depths
your quiet is unspoken.
You have no tongue to disturb
the earth’s imperturbable revolutions
moving with some silent purpose.