An untrained whistle notches up the sound level,
Screeching past an ungodly hour, trammelling
The boundaries of adequacy, of an imbalance yielding
To the quandaries, contingent, afflicted, undone.
It’s a feature not a bug; a concomitant attendance
Speaking of an unholy deified silence. Which craft
Of man will serve to unravel the hum of the unwanted
That grimes through unwished, alluvial yet infirm?
There is the wish, the cusp of wish, the unsteady
hearth of art that pieces heart of craft. Allowances
Will have to be made, dearnesses swallowed for the
Larger ungood; promises ruptured for the sake of.