Crash

Waiting as the cymbal’s tremble
moves from crash to dissipation,
waiting in the space defined
by its detonation,
waiting to see where I’ll find myself
once the sound has settled

I could go on, then, as if
my inner membranes had not arrested their normal breathing
as they reverberated.
I could make a big story about it,
a problem,  a set of things
that need redress

Or I could let the silence become attuned,
let it deepen,
go with it to the primal order,
align with trees, and night, and stone,
and seek the sight of stars.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 26, 2023

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