Does it mean not noticing the sounds outside
of upcoming spring, shrieks of laughter
when there are so many things to do?

Does it mean hearing the murmurs unmentioned
the sounds in a vacuum near unknown
and noticing what might otherwise hang
in the air and never touch your tiny ears?

Does it mean imagining what might sound nice
inspire you to know what might be right?

Does it mean finding a way
to let you see the way I say
and stay unafraid, stay, stay, and stay?

Does it mean asking the question:
“How the hell did this happen?”
just enough
so I don’t drown
in your tear ducts?

Or does it mean remembering after all,
that this is the history of us
and together we’ll fall
if America is born and raised,
preemptively wincing
and waiting for pain,
or worse ignored
by exhaustion
and put down
further on the list
of things to do
and what to
accomplish.

Or does it mean me,
looking at you
and asking once more,
“What else can I do?”