Tonal communion, bone-washed
in the midnight air cloning ether,
is the grand rhythm and voice
that moves the unwashed stone.

It is the contra point, the silence
that fills your factual movement
with all that you might call
yet another dance with brevity.

Billions of unheard sound-waves
surrounds the one inside the I
at any given glance in motion
beyond any I ordering so.

No human ear or antenna
can discern the chaotic background
to which the human order
clock’s itself in disarray.