On rubber wheels the door of this Poem by Erik Spinoy

On rubber wheels the door of this
cocoon-shaped space slides shut

and then all other sound disappears.

While one gazes at the sun-bleached shoe tip
on a stainless steel latticework
on top of inches of sand

and at the three-dimensional mosaic
of tarmac-coloured polymer foam on
walls of yet more sand and MDF and glass wool

there's no noise in this soundproof room that
pounds like your bloodstream,

but the denial bearing it all:

a flood line that divides the thoughtless murmur

from the marram grass that always sings
with significance.

Translation: 2012, Willem Groenewegen