Deep Breaths

The roars of trucks, cars, and things
That sound like wind—the wind roar
That sounds like rain—the rain drums

That sound like war. Sound, sound, sound,
Like, like, like, rush, rush, more, more—
You can learn to read these sounds,

As I have on thin dirt roads
Well up on crags in the woods—
Which roar’s a dirt bike, a gust,

An old truck, a storm. I want
Them all to be storms but know
That if they were, I’d know fear,

When now all I know are hints
Of dread, signs, time to look up,
Pricked ears. Time to sit back down.

I love the world when it’s caught
In a mesh of its own light,
All wild-eyed, but makes no sound.