little no peep

I know where I am
I tell
myself: I am here. But
if I
didn’t tell anyone,
no one would
know, so, see, I feel
a bit like that tree
in
the
forest
that might or might
not
make a sound when it
falls.
And I wonder:
does it care, really?
Or is
making
the noise
the payoff for giving of
limb and life?
And, while I’m at it,
is it just as
narcissistic of the poplar or elm or maple
or evergreen to consider
it’s relevance
as
do
I?
Not being sure
if you’re even
making a sound
is
not
an easy thing to be hearing
a brain ponder on a
Tuesday
afternoon
in March
on the floor
of
an
airport
in
Colorado, especially
when the brain is yours –
or close enough to it
for government work.
It sometimes makes
you want
to
scream: Just
to
see if anyone is listening. Well, maybe not
here.