even the static statue of fat smiley Buddha claims its own wavelength
(an individual pulse in a pitch unhearable by all but wasps and
dragonflies
like a color beyond visible—a gamma
or an infrared—) and emits vibrations with steadiness—
a frequency
of its frequencies—and nonears celebrate at those silences
with unrhumbas and antisambas danced with utmost precision by marrow
and grist or gristle and a desire to whistle or hum or drum overtakes a poorer drone
as its placid pace mutes along a commute tomorrow
