"The Sound of Time (for Bob Ambrose)" - David Noah
Seconds keen as they trickle through fingers.
Minutes sound like rain, each one a lone drop
plopping on earth or flesh until the mob
arrives, overthrowing an afternoon
with the noise of a million tiny boots.
Hours knock and turn away like polite
missionaries canvassing every door.
Impossible not to listen unless
we can attend to what never passes,
what never shakes the air. The unceasing
tinnitus of time distracts from the song
we ache to hear, the slow music that sounds
like nothing perhaps but the hiss and slap
of waves folding themselves into the sea.
Poems by poets about poets: "The Sound of Time (for Bob Ambrose)" by David Noah begins a week-long series.