WHAT I WANT
 

I want to be heard, not seen,

the voice late night on FM between sets,

the blues which sounds hollow and full,

a fog horn in the fog at noon.

 

I want to be read slowly, out loud,

heard like wind, close, but from some distance.

A footfall which says, I’m coming to an uncarpeted hall,

a word which says, I’m here to the dark.