like the ringing
in her ears, as they search
the silence of a country night
for any sound – any trace
crickets in the damp grass
a car winding through the darkness
train cars rumbling through the valley
some sound, some meaning
but there is only
ringing uninhabited silence
the car that had brought her
shook the whole way there
like a trailer in a tornado
leaving a trail of glistening oil
that shows the way she has come -
it still runs, if barely.
they both claw forward, fueled by
the jittery anxiousness of a home
become a house.
in her mind - in these solitary days,
she doesn’t occupy the house
she sleeps so restlessly inside
instead, she dreams vaguely
of steel and glass
of lights and windows
of movement and noise –
900 feet above the ground
but when she wakes
as she does every morning
there is only the abiding silence
that filled the house
she dreams inside