Its gusts accompanied by a rush of dry leaves,
the banging of shutters and overturned trash cans,
the wind never sings alone.
Piano notes from an open window
counterpoint a chorus of insects,
a fire truck’s siren screams down the street
with the surf-like dirge of traffic.
When it’s time for night music, the crackling of plaster,
joins the hum of wires, creak of an unwalked floorboard.
Sometimes I sing to myself so I no longer hear
the wordless whispering, that loud hiss
suddenly rising inside my ears.