Darker Than a Moment Ago

I think a lot about a world without
Human music or language—no stories,
No gossip, a world without opera

Or hypotheses, a world just being
A world. Even the human world can be
Such a world. I sit behind the closed glass

Doors of my balcony, texts set aside,
Screens and speakers off, chair at an angle
To the view, so that I can see the lights

And hear the hum of evening coming on,
But can’t read any distant glowing signs.
It’s not like a Gordon Hempton soundscape,

Insects in the rainforest, birds and wind
And nothing much else in the wilderness,
But it is a world just being a world,

Rhythmic, affectless, telling me nothing,
With no intention of reassuring,
Frightening, diverting, or spellbinding me.

It is evening. The sky is darkening.
The lights below are brightening. Light snow
Twirls in white street lamps. The world is a world.