Listening

It was a night like all the others. Void

of everything spare memory. He thought

he'd got to the opposite side of things.

However, he hadn't. He read a little

also, tuned in to the radio. Watched out the window

for some time. At that point went upstairs. In bed

acknowledged he'd left the radio on.

Be that as it may, he shut his eyes in any case. Inside the profound night,

as the house cruised west, he woke up

To hear voices mumbling. What's more, solidified.

At that point comprehended it was just the radio.

He got up and went first floor. He had

to pee at any rate. A little downpour

that hadn't been there before was

falling outside. The voices

on the radio blurred and afterward returned

as though from far. It wasn't

a similar station any more. A man's voice

said something regarding Borodin,

what's more, his show Prince Igor. The lady

he said this to concurred, and chuckled.

Started to reveal to her a tad bit of the story.

The man's hand stepped again from the switch.

Again he ended up in the nearness

Of puzzle. Downpour. Giggling. History.

Workmanship. The authority of death.

He remained there, tuning in.