Acoustics

Daylight

too bright to

hear the transparency

of Lacewings,

a Bird of Paradise unravel,

the pop

of a seed-head bursting,

to illuminate the creak

of the Earth’s backbone

as it leans towards the sun.

At Epidavros

in the pooling darkness

of limestone,

engraved

in the chink of silver

dropped on stage far below,

you can hear the silence of oracles,

the tip of an icicle

melt

the fizz of expectation in my adolescent eye.