fog sound bank
in the plush pale grey of fog
our lashes go spangled
each footstep sounds
a loud crunch in
the small space of here
a grassbird call resounds
cliff to cliff and back
its volume startles
on the summit
sound pops from all quarters
(frogs we can’t see and don’t expect
utterly untroubled by liquid air)
a dassie slowly saws stems
and we register each chew
even so I can’t make out
a sunbird’s sips
now and then wind demands attention
ruffles our hair
and blows on our earlobes:
are you all here? now?
