Somewhere beneath the rolling thunder of tires,
the screeching breaks, the honks and beeps,
beneath the cell phone jingles,
the message alerts,
the clak clak clak of bicycle spokes,
beneath the endless chatter;
the sighs, the yelps, the laughter.
Even beneath the church bell
that carries over the rooftops
reminding us of the hour.
Beneath it all, somewhere, there is silence.
But, if we were to hear it
we'd discover that silence is the loudest sound,
a tidal wave of indifference.
The black bird perched over the streets knows this,
but as he opens his beak
to sing me a song
about the beauty of nothing
a jet liner passes over head
and his song is lost among the vibrating pools.