When the din begins to fade,
when the dirt and dust is brushed away,
there is some kind of, some kind of....
raw, unnerving, squirming, writhing, screaming
pulse.

And as the newly exposed begins to dry,
as the fresh and new extends its roots,
there is some kind of, some kind of....
still, calm, deepened, lulling, soothing
pulse.

There will be no warning
only the aftermath of a quick escape.

No sound
no trace
no final embrace.

On my terms,
in my way,
a little, tiny,
huge,expansive,
roaring, silent getaway.