Later That Same Thursday

There is a constant drone gently tapering offSomething like horns, instruments of the windLong and drawn outHaunting strings that don't last, without a breakSilence in-between, while I catch my breathPeace, this is peaceWhere I close my eyes, and driftI can't stay here forever listeningI wouldn't if I couldI'm momentarily conditionally presentConducting business you might sayUntil my name is called