from a doorstep on the first warm night of spring. 2026.
Is that a tire squeaking,
or is something tweeting?
the beams show.
they grow.
car passes.
no.
still squealing.
The rhythm is. off.
Its like a door hinge
Its like in the jungle gym
Its like that nearly-silent
sunshine swing set sound
savored with the peace of a child.
The “inside thank-you”.
———
We hurry too much.
Do you remember
where you were
when you learned
there is a
SINGLE WORD
for
“pouring
CAR-JUICE
into
noisy metal objects
(indoors!)”
?
Yet here I scrounge for words?
Something is wrong.
This squeak is no song.
I sit here some time now,
and it went quiet before.
but now?
dang thing’s at it again.
Poor thing.
It’s alive, whatever’s making that sound.
—Δηλία, 2026
Æura Æra 