The Periphery Of Perception Poem by Glen Kappy

The reveille recording
from the nearby base
has bugled 7
and already from outside
the motor sounds of smaller planes
the whoosh of traffic passing
the breathy sounds of jets
much higher up
mixed with calls
of mourning doves and robins—
all this hum and bother
at the periphery of perception.

And I wonder what this says
about the really real—
wonder if the all that sucks us
from our centers—
posturings, pronouncements
of our politcians—
the "news" that feeds on them—
is like the noise
of our inventions
that I hear outside.
So often our attention
flits like butterflies—
but is the best when we alight
our slightest feathery wings
for moments come to upright rest
and in them brief awareness
of this inner witness?