The
sound formed before
Your
first breath
The sound of nobody’s voice
You recall so close to your ear
The sound open as a lidless eye
That
waits for morning
The sound rolling out of itself
Not
shouting but tolling soft alarms
The
unasked for sound
The
yet-to-be-begotten sound
Never
to be forgotten sound
Not
the sound of the eruption
But
what you hear when ash falls three nights later
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