Fault Line

		Rain tastes 
	slightly slanted
	
	A deep opening—	there 

	The equipment 
		of the forest opens

And there 	—a sound
	curves back on itself

	transmitting…
		unpredictable

	Back it comes,
		wilder—
		an ear curved back on itself

	Something happened

		The mountain turned up
		shuddering

there—      	a frequency…
		I’m trying to record it

	Calibrate the head’s
		tuning fork

	It’s like an obsession—	
		
		still 		
		here in the morning