The Tiny Sounds (Of A Glass Garden Breaking)

Making sense of sounds smaller
than the bones in your ear,
so tiny they get stuck like splinters
under the nails of your fingers planted
in the soil of forgotten dreams
where you try to grow new ideas
but now the sounds trickle down
the lanes between tendon and bone,
shivering across the back of your hand
and still you don’t know their source
and you start digging
and you fall through the roof
off a heart of glass
but land among fern and flowers
and the beating wings of hummingbirds
settle on your shoulders
and the sound disappears
into the shattered sky of your chest.