The night is still. I close the windows

to hear the frame of the house

breathing. The little whine of the hard

drive, the dog licking her paws. This

goes on for hours. I hear the filament

burning in the lamp and the corn

stalks of the carpeting rustle in a gentle

prarie wind. I’m ready. I throw open

the window and listen for you.

The freeway, the hum of tires, stuttering

jake break of a Peterbilt; the surf,

an owl’s breath, respirations of stone

and a hundred thousand beating hearts.

In all of it, you keep perfectly still.

So quiet, so bright in memory. I

have fallen in love with nothing.

Kyle Kimberlin

10/11/2000