Hearing

Her voice was the voice

of a best friend:  the

single most friend in

the world, very casual,

yet intimate.


Her voice was also

refined, learned,

literary, like a

chipmunk running

down the street,

swiftly passing green

grass and habitual burrows

in which safety could be

found, scampering down

this familiar street instead:

her voice I heard, resounding,

resounding, with, like the

chipmunk, no safety to find.