There are many kinds of noises in myhead,
The oscillating whistle in my ears
That comes and goes;
The music of the spheres I sometimes hear:
A mathematic mediaeval catch
That wafts down centuries
To spare out sleep.

The noise of memory, the constant looping spool
That winds and winds, disturbing waking days
And watchful nights,
The little laughters, longings never reached,
The gaps that ache across the years,
The hiss and whine behind
The corners of the mind.

And now the constant noise
Of horrors yet to come,
The aircraft overhead
That follows where I go,
Lower and lower, louder and louder,
A turning, circling, droning hum,
Homing for my hangar.