i live in a place where quiet roams the streets

and birds are my alarm

windows open all night to a symphony of peepers

and the possibility of predator is

a four-legged shadow that almost never

crosses my path

while silence hides under rocks and slithers

away from the light

never quite reaching its destination

this is the anti-city

overpopulated only by mole and chipmunk

tunnel travelers who dig their own map

bending around rock and rising up

to find the jaws of hunger

or absolutely nothing

just bare sky hanging low

so close you can smell

the fragrance of stars

or feel the brush of a wingtip

on your shoulder




A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

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