Under The Overpass

The day has its own song
that drones inaudibly
in the background.

The mountains sleeping in their black forests
and the birds watching the valley
from undefined perches in the distance.

The drone of the suburbs below
sprawled out in their snake cul-de-sacs
with the people hidden in identical houses
doing undefined things
in our imaginations.

The sound of the small city
moving lazily under slow cloud drifts
always casting undefined shapes
over everything.

The day moves to its own music
—the sound of an animal sleeping
tossing in its own dream.

There is a silence
behind the noise of the mundane
that has its own sound
that can be heard
only once the silence is heard.

The sound of the planet turning through space.

A wildflower,
blooming under an overpass.