Too much noise
will shred the softest parts of me.
at the crash of a cymbal,
I am reminded
of the moonlight reflected
from each pointed tooth of a gator
as it thrashes the baby gazelle
in its jaws with neither
mercy
nor conscience.
then the beast,
one more living creature
just breathing
and hungry,
sinks beneath the surface
of the river.
the ripples on the water smooth over,
all is quiet again
and I am left trembling,
holding the lifeless stars
the cymbal has shaken
out of the sky.