The voices that surround the room,

Discussing who said what to whom,


Rising on the ocean wind and falling,

Riffling through the fronds and squalling,


Don’t condescend to let me in

On their airy conversation,


Knowing that the dreaming me

Thinks of this as an MP3,


An example of a breeze

Being insincere with leaves,


Lying in their leafy sheets.

But as ghostly light accretes


And specters form around the edges,

So words infuse the rusting ledges


On nights like this, when foggy seas

Produce their own mythologies,


And banging doors and dead man’s moan

Grow an ocean of their own,