Sound Carries
Dec 7 2009


Sound carries, in winter.
Moving faster
through frozen air
— the density of cold,
its slow and noiseless molecules.
And reflecting, rapidly,
turning icy surfaces
into hard cacophony.
And farther than you’d imagine
— through the bare branches
of brittle trees,
over ice-bound lakes
crusted fields.

You can hear yourself think,
walking in late afternoon
already dusk.
You can hear the squeak
of freshly fallen snow,
out before the plough.
And things only dogs can hear —
the sudden stop
ears cocked
straining forward.
With one foreleg delicately poised
tail fully extended.
Like a sensitive antenna,
receptive to the least vibration
stirring the air.

You envy her focus,
her hair-trigger burst
into certain motion.
She is not distracted
by intrusive thoughts, stray conversations,
declarations, innuendo
cutting remarks.
In her universe
everything means what it says;
no words to interpret
or miss.
Only sound.

From across the lake, perhaps,
or the far side of town.
An impossible distance;
but in a cold dark winter
you imagine secrets,
and believe everything you hear.