The nearly audible click of snow
         on snow, click
of eye contact, tingling
in the scalp that moves
slowly down the neck, sound
heated until it changes
         state, tense
liquid in the mouth, cadence
         falling on

and on, the breath
         colliding with
the pane, inaudible
click of the tongue against
the alveolar ridge, sunlight falling
around a helpless thing.
         This is a recording
of rain stopping, power being cut, room
         tone you take

outside, release into the trees, silver
shifting in the dark, the almost
sound when deer look up, small
roots dangling from their mouths,
scattering earth,
         ashes, light
scattering the sound
         of opening the throat

as if to speak.
         I want to make that sound
of setting something down
on paper as opposed to under
glass, ghostly opposition, vowel
of stone fruit
         softening, whisper of internal
inflammation, want to praise
         the low

grade euphoria produced by making fine
         distinctions, click
of tiny differences, bow
drawn across a metal plate
covered with a fine
layer of sand, a nodal pattern, feeling
         forms around
the static, crinkling
         paper, thin

plastics, nymphs
         hatching in
grasses, feeding on grasses, the paper curls
up in flame, attracting
mates. When a near rhyme is lost to slow
changes in pronunciation, a call goes out
         for work
to reconstruct it:

and move, alterations in
         the mouth, play
of colors, friends conduct
experiments in hearing
as: distortion as
music, ocean as traffic, wind in the trees
         like overheard
speech. The not yet audible sound of me
         clinging to belief

in new senses, making
         the softest
possible claim, brushing it against
the grain, taking on a negative
charge so changes might be rung without
waking anybody up.
         Sound of pins and needles,
rustle of