The Sound A Dream Makes

The box makes a click.
Insignificant.

Lost, as the whirring
of a sparrow's wings in a crackling
sun-scorched field.

There is a shadow,
and a smile,
white, like bones.

The voice -
curls up in the throat,
inarticulate.

The question
echoes out of emptiness.

A dry cough.
A rattle of dust.

That is the sound a dream makes,
when it dies.