Digital clocks are too quiet
For my silence
Which is currently pervasive
And Elusive
Drawn out on thick currents of breath whisping like tides
From my lips.
I need clocks that tick and measure
That loft explanations into the air
And strike its surface like a tuning fork.

My analog clocks are all dead
Wound down by my periods of scratchy noise
Which are frequent
And my digital clocks do not need to be wound.
They are bright and quiet and
Only tell the time.
I hold my breath.

I do not feel my heart in my chest
But it is there
Making regular noise that I cannot hear.
Schlot, schlot, schlot,
Wubbub, wubbub, wubbub,
Tic, tic, tock.
My heart is strong as it nibbles on little moments.

Hypothetical question:
If a tree falls in the forest
And we are out of space
Out of time
Fresh out of heartbeats
Does it make a sound?

I flutter about the edges of my silence
My heart ringing in my ears
And I knock rhythmically, desperately
But quite polite
Because I can see you in there
Your silhouette through the frosted window
Reading without the aid of your glasses.

I want to know many, many things
Not the least of which is
If I could be so bold
May I ask
Did you get in there?

For Shana, on her birthday
Originally written 6/30/2010