Neptune does not echo

by Regis Boff

We are forever guessing
if we are a song.
Nothing is soundless.
We suspect
but are never sure that our noises carry.
My whistling
may reach Neptune.
But Neptune, like God, does not echo.
Birds don’t care so much
for their songs.
They care about eggs and nests
and the size of baby new wings.
Cicadas lullaby summer evenings.
But the night doesn’t pick up
their theme
and begin to dance.
Flies whizz their little ditties
by our ears.
And we brush them away,
like eavesdropped insults.
The flowers
exhale their perfumes​
into the winds to
blind the dazzled slave bees.
Nothing disturbs the evenhanded blizzard
that is being alive,
but the drama​ of surprising death,
and the odd collisions with love.

She sits among her snowflake suitors.
All sincere,
Each different,
Each the same
all waiting.
Until she finds
the one that echoes her song.

winter_season_snow_trees_dark_vocaloid_white_hatsune_desktop_1920x1080_hd-wallpaper-8116012

PUBLISHED: June 30, 2016
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds
PUBLISHED: January 1, 2019
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds