the spindle that connects one leg of my chair to the other creaks

i can feel my hip bones shift as i raise one leg over the other

its not as early anymore, but i try to find time to listen.

my neighbours commute to work,

bike chains turn

car engines heat up and stereos repeat news stories and agonizing chart toppers from the past.

i am listening though.

for the wiz of the pigeon's vinyl wings

for the slip of the hummingbirds tongue

for the buzz of bees and the whisper in trees

i am listening for the cat, licking its silent paws

his eyes who mimic, watching the sparrows hop between lilac leaves.

the forest is empty.