A fan in the corner
Thrumming lowly, slowly
Muffles the silence
They call it white noise
Because it cancels everything
But I think it just tucks it in
Under warm blankets
Sings it a lullaby
Then tip-toes
Out of the room,
Taking the waking light
Leaving the comforting
Liquid of night
Softening the harsh edges of nothing
With the mellow curves of something
Humming my mind into
The lapping wavelets
Of sleep.
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