Saturday Afternoon

I'm not the remote-control car being whizzed by the kid next door. I'm not the raven crowing a black line call to his distant mate. Or the big motorbike my neighbor is tuning - again. Or the leaves making long water sounds in that tree. Or the remote-control kid's father shouting faster, faster. I'm the shouting. I'm that sound. I'm the tuning of the bike. It's vibrations are my movements within flesh. I'm the crow of the raven as I move to shut this window, and the silence where that whizz was.