It might start with the shriek
of a hawk or the ruining racket
of a jackhammer. Or with the low,
low flute note from a great horned
owl, or with the wail of a baby nearby.
Anyway, a sound that seizes you,
uproots you from your moment,
like a turnip from damp soil,
and tosses you into the basket
of a different reality. Pulled
or pushed into one space
of the "real after" another,
only falsely sure we know
what's coming in the mirage's flow--
oh, such is life, life such as it is.
Hans Ostrom 2024
