The Sound That Caught

Half-light, TV glow,

a documentary I wasn’t watching,

not really. Just letting the sound wash

over the edges of my sleep.

Then it cut through,

sharp, like a snagged nail

on a blackboard, but deeper,

more final. The camera held

on a black shape, anonymous,

a long, dark river

pulled shut by a metallic rasp.

It wasn't loud.

It was the sound of something ending,

snapping taut, a thick cord cut.

And it stuck.

Later, in the quiet,

it played again,

not in my ears, but behind them,

a rough edge rubbing

against the soft tissue of night.