In the Walls of the World

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In the Walls of the World

Completely silent, listening for voices, things
that are not there: Some meaning in the click
the dryer makes for reasons all its own—
meaning in the roar of silence thick 
and slow and heavy—significance in how 
the inside of the blanket feels around my toes. 

How strange to hear the world spilling out
its secrets, a pulse so odd and true
it only bursts to life on Friday mornings like this,
blossoms like a mold in the soil of kitchen quiet
and a creaky floorboard as I shift my weight. 

But secrets, as they are, are secrets,
and maybe I am not a confidant but more
a peeping Tom, the sort you dream about
in nightmares,
the guy who's hiding in a wall or 
pressing up his ear against a door that isn’t his.

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