I cock my head towards the stream so that
the water narrowly misses my ear
but I can still hear it rushing by
And as I elect to shut my eyes,
it sounds as though it’s traffic,
and I am on the median

Without a chance to listen to the labored
swaying of the leaves,
the buildings arc to block their mimicry
To shield me from its dissonance
so that all paths lead to pleasantry
And sound mind will come in muffled
through the accordion-esque speakers
embedded in the birds’ nests


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