Soundscape, From the Porch

Where I close my eyes, let the sounds be
as they are, the robin's morning melody
stealing among the cacophonous pillars
of industry—a rattling coal train, jake
brakes of a diesel truck reporting like a
firearm for duty, a prop plane buzzing
back from a fungicide mission in a field
in the south of the county—like a child
playing hide and seek among pillars of
Roman catacombs. I've heard the rumor,
the one where life persists despite all
this death, where death of this sort plays
itself out, exhausts its ammunition, gives 

way to joyous polyphony, song and dance.