For Patrick Bocarde

 For Patrick Bocarde 

Between the refrigerator 

and air purifier 

there’s a little hum 

pitched a little higher 

you’d be wrong 

to think “tinnitus”

it’s the siren call

the  “why” of existence 

we all march 

to a different drum 

but all hear the sound 

of the hum 

those industrial engines 

never go quiet 

sounds of space 

sound like traffic 

we could elevate 

silence to a science 

but the sound of life 

is circulation 

smoke and drink 

till we’re numb 

defeated by 

that little hum 

rhythm of 

your respiration 

pulse of my 

perspiration 

our vertical 

frustrations 

leave us 

in the mud 

knocking knuckles 

with the dawn 

vibrating 

with the hum