Black And White

Even in quiet places, there is a dark clamoring
of vine bore gnawing inside a plant’s stem,
and it keeps you awake at night
wondering at the damage, so you hear it
tunneling and destroying, even in your dreams.

Even in loud places, there is white noise,
a confusion of senses where sound vacates.
It makes you lose balance. It begins
when there is too much going on.
You never notice it building up
until it unnerves you. It is too late, then.

In between the extremes, like a no-man’s land
or the break during rush hour
when people stop-start, feet in-midair
while others zoom past, there is a point
when life shatters and reconstructs and
no one realizes the changes.