In the listening room

authenticity & impenetrability exist simultaneously

we take turns at knowability sans calamity or consequence

immeasurable silent applause erupts regularly

we are all here with our noise-cancelling headphones around our necks

out the windows: minimal traffic, a small herd of goats eating excess underbrush

inside the room: ghosts retrieved from an endless place of waiting—

like a doctor’s office, only worse & there is no diagnosis

& in the listening room there is so much patience, too

so much wanting to know, but not asking

so much respecting the opacity of the other

there is shushing of wind in the trees carrying through half-open windows

there is silence but also conflicting definitions of time around how long it lasts

or time is epiphanous, or both

& epiphanous in this case is “offering surprising discoveries”

meaning: we are spiritually receptive to your story

as long as it turns an unexpected corner

the listening room is a lighthouse & we are ships

guided in past the breakwater

we want you to stay alive

the listening room is an open suitcase

or an ancestral home with furniture covered in plastic

& in the summer our thighs stick & someone asks

if we can just sit on the goddamn couch—its fabric skin

in the listening room we will carry you over the obstacle

back to navigable waters

we are practicing portaging

the obstacle can be anything

we eschew the tyranny of relentless positivity

we drink a lot of seltzer

the room itself becomes sacred through neural patterning

even when we are all unique & inexplicable

in the listening room, we see you