Silences

The calliope of sound turns quickly in my head,
pressure builds as if these thoughts might split my skull,

a fissure racing the mind to the finish
of days where peace might never be found.

Hairline cracks build momentum.
walking too far out on ice
that will never support me.

The sounds explode under my feet
deep booming before I sink under the cold water,
before any warm hand dares to grasp for me
and pull me to the disappointing surface.

There is no device that can bring the breath
back into these lungs that wonder about red birds
and singing. There is nothing that remembers flight.

Let the winds take this soul of grief
to the ends of the prairie
where the silences are as great as the sky
and I can become dizzy with so much emptiness.



Pressure device fissure calliope