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Muffled
On a wall so paper thin it’s visible, I see
Clobber sounds I imagine comes when people walk, their footsteps heavy or soft depending on the pits of rain,
Trees fluttering, the sounds of crackles coming in faint rumbles,
Like the grass beneath but perhaps the feeling or warmth and softness is more apparent than whatever things I hear from it.
.
The sound-out groans, it moans in whistles,
Reminding me that things I described are things
I cannot hear behind where I am.
.
Yet I can imagine the echos the wind makes
When people walk, the thud and clobber the sounds of their shoes would make
The pitter-patter of rain, distinct
Sound of the sharp stream a car going past, motors screeching I fell more in
Curses rather than calm.
.
On a wall so paper-thin it’s visible, I hear and
Think, pictures aboard,
The muffled sounds of what a wind would speak
The 8 Senses
The Autistic Teacher