I long to live in the silence
of cracks between calcified sound.
This ground rings.
There must be places,
places full of hollow,
places where a man might make a way
Why do nations congregate
on turgid cliffs?
Why do they love to raise their voice
and listen to the echoes of their rage?
No one’s innocent of Babel,
even me, I know, but I just want
to shut this mouth,
unwrap these eyes,
and be at peace until the trumpet sings.