Hearing is a home for the sound to travel into your ear and sit down
have some tea and tell you of its travels.
"Have you ever guessed," he said, while eating a tap of fruitcake, "what it's like to travel through the air in a wave, after being made when a bow strikes a violin string?"
"Why no," I retort, "I have no idea."
"Well, it's quite like a magic carpet ride, soaring over the air, and then into your ear."
"That's fascinating," I said.
Me and the sound have tea all day, talking like this, until he has to go.
I clean up the dishes and the saucers, sweep up the crumbs and even check under the rug.
I look out the window at the sun, through the curtain of my eyes
and there's this dull ringing.
I see my friend has left a small bell.
Ringgggg ringgggg it rings in my ear all the time now,
a reminder of him telling me stories
of his travels across the air.
My brain asks about this.
"Who was he?" it inquires.
My brain is always trying to know everything.
"Oh no one," I shrug.
My heart says, "I think he goes by tinniiiiiitus."
"Shhhh...," I say.
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