died so I looked online
and couldn’t believe the price
for a new noise, so I bought
a second-hand noise, deliverable
and like-new. The noise arrived
on my windowsill
the next day in a box wrapped
with too much tape. I tore
each layer of the sticky plastic
like unwrapping a bandage.
The noise was delicate
as a small glass
of steam and ash.
The thing I liked most about
the second-hand noise
was how much it deepened
the sensation of walking
through the house
with a newfound
breeze. But I didn’t know
how loud my noise was.
I was breathing
like snoring
while awake.
When my neighbours
complained something heavy
was moving on the other side
of their wall, slamming doors
and knocking tables, I got out
my noise, astounded again
by its hovering lightness
and said nothing.
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