The wind makes the cars so quiet as they pass,
As if they're the nowhere of their destinations,
But their rotors reply with their own overruling squall.
The building seems to be constructed of words
For all the need of talk the workers show
As they vie for loudest voice before the Lord.
The freight train threatens from far away
With its scraping void, as if to say
No one will escape this ringing unscathed.
Its horn moans, the birds fill their beaks with song
Instead of seeds, the wind stirs a frenzy in the leaves
All in fear of not having the next, last word.
For silence has a way of answering;
It makes everything that came before it
Seem to have never existed.
