the spindle that connects one leg of my chair to the other creaks
i can feel my hip bones shift as i raise one leg over the other
its not as early anymore, but i try to find time to listen.
my neighbours commute to work,
bike chains turn
car engines heat up and stereos repeat news stories and agonizing chart toppers from the past.
i am listening though.
for the wiz of the pigeon's vinyl wings
for the slip of the hummingbirds tongue
for the buzz of bees and the whisper in trees
i am listening for the cat, licking its silent paws
his eyes who mimic, watching the sparrows hop between lilac leaves.
the forest is empty.