I can hear sleeping dog’s heavy breath,
cat washing, clock-tick,
a warbler in the far hedge
and the hum of blood in my ears.
Silence is the tiny pinpoints of nothing,
like the blanks between stars,
the dark full of glitter
the eye cannot see.
Between snorts and fur-tugging,
clock on the mantel ticking,
the persistent notes of a song,
I can hear the rhythmic throb
that says I am here,
and I am listening.