We March Already.

Soft sheets and the cloud-tinged sunlight
Drifting through the window
The mourning doves and buzz-saws
The low soft humming of the world
Beneath the thrumming faucet
The weary clank of the pipes and girders
One tone, ever-rising
Rustling from between the palm fronds
From the squealing axles on the freeway
The shrieking sparrows
The cricket's snarl
My heartbeat
One tone.
The distant trumpets'
Echo in the silence deep within us
Is rising