The Sounds Poem by RIC BASTASA

i heard the sound of the clock ticking
some things come
i am remembering these some things
burnt, and melting in my forehead,
i like the sound of the ticking of grandfather's
clock at night, i hear footsteps
and drippings of water
from the gutter to the floor

the window is closed and the wind makes
the sound of someone caught between
door jambs, creaking sounds creeping
on the wall, something is terrible, really terrible
and i turn my body to the left side,

there is this storm, and the strong rain comes
with the grunting wind, and trees are falling
unto each other, i hear leaves and twigs,
and the roof wanting to leave the house,

something is terribly happening on this night
of the suicidal darkness, the shimmer of the river
looks like a stainless knife

who's there? i ask the door. The mirror on the other
side answers, how dare you?

it is nobody. it is just myself, my mouth answers.