at the south-most
tip of manhattan, stood a
tall, singing sculpture named
breath.
it sang the
sacred human sounds
of reverent human
voices.
almost inaudible
beneath the wail of
traffic noise &
jackhammers––
almost incoherent
amidst the billion piercing
waves of telephone
conversations, wrong
numbers & telemarketing
calls through the
body––
almost unintelligible
from the alpha,
gamma & beta
transmissions from the
stars––
the hum of
om goes
on.
what, do you
imagine, is the
wavelength of your
soul?