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