Thompson, Don / Where we live: poetry
Where we live, pp. 27-
Where We Live Nocturnal creatures must teach their young to be heard and not seen. Coyotes yip to the cast of us and to the west, frogs beat their drums. Somewhere to the south, a bird calls two thin, falling syllables in a language we'll never know, except for rough translations into loneliness. Where we live, you have to listen hard through cricket static to hear yourself think. I like that. For once, everything human has to shut up and sit still. You can't even hear the traffic on 15, only a few miles to the northeast, where big rigs drift by like ghosts with lanterns trapped in a long, dark hallway.
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