Robin Ekiss


The Death of Silence

A car’ s backfire
rifles the ear

with skeleton clatter,
the crowd’ s walla walla

draws near, caterwaul
evaporating in thin air.

Silence is dead.
(Long live silence.)

Let’ s observe a moment
of it, call it what it’ s not:

splatter of rain
that can’ t soothe

the window’ s pane,
dog barking

up the wrong tree.
Which tree, which air

apparent is there to hear
a word at its worth?

Hammer that drums
its water-logged warning

against the side
of the submarine: