2: 55 A.m.

at this hour
the exhaust fan of the computer
sounds loudest

second to that
is the murmur of each key
as i press upon
a letter

to make this
waking poem
make
its faintest sound

it is like
the sigh of the pin
dropping
on the carpeted
floor
of an empty room
with doors and
windows
closed.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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