At twelve ten
the dial turns amber
A carrier hums
then someone begins
I come back every night
same chair
same hand on the knob
I listen past the names
One voice fills the left side
certain as a closing door
Another arrives cleaner
with nothing left to question
The needle barely settles
before the next one takes the room
I turn it slowly
not looking for the loudest
Leave a little space
between the stations
Leave a little air
where no one owns the sound
Let the needle tremble
let it wander for a while
Hold it in the quiet
where the carrier thins
North
South
Near
Far
Gone
Two sixteen
a weak carrier flickers
Someone speaks beneath the others
too low to make out
A stronger station crosses it
bright and perfectly tuned
I hear only pieces
a name
a stair
then nothing
The window pales a little
The dial still glows
I keep my hand there
Leave a little space
between the stations
Leave a little air
where no one owns the sound
Let the needle tremble
let it wander for a while
Hold it in the quiet
where the carrier thins
North
South
Near
Far
Gone
Four forty-eight
One station gives its closing tone
Another names the hour
and disappears
A third leaves only carrier hiss
The room gets larger
with every voice that goes
One less voice
One more inch of air
One less voice
The needle stays
Leave a little space
between the stations
Leave a little air
where no one owns the sound
The dial is almost empty now
and underneath the hiss
someone is still speaking
Mira
the water reached the stairs
wake your brother
Mira
bring the radio upstairs
The needle does not move