Little Signal, Hush Now

Fir needles filled my left sleeve. A receiver hung at my waist, its tuning wheel sealed with candle wax. Five small notes arrived. The last one bent wrong. Then my own voice came through from above the pines. (not mine) Little signal, hush now. Hush now, hush now. Little signal, hush now. Don't let the open sky know. (hu-u-ush) Orange survey ribbon faced inward on every tree. No tracks crossed the moss. Under each trunk, a white ceramic nub pressed through the bark. The branches leaned north while the rain moved south. The receiver's needle moved whenever I swallowed. It spoke again. (keep quiet) Little signal, hush now. Hush now, hush now. Little signal, hush now. Don't let the open sky know. I reached a round clearing cut clean as a lid. Above it, the stars held perfect rows. I said one word. One point overhead went out. I covered the receiver. Its needle kept climbing beneath my palm. It wasn't listening. It was counting what I gave away. (every breath) Little signal, hush now. Hush now, hush now. Don't let the open sky know. I opened the back plate with my buckle. No speaker grille faced the air. A contact disc faced my ribs. Inside, a stamped strip read: DECOY VOICE ACTIVE. HOME ARRAY QUIET. Every trunk was a relay. The forest concealed one buried mast. And I was its false address. (send me instead) Little signal, hush now. Hush now, hush now. You were made to let it know. Across the clearing, the stars went out in a path aimed at me. Under the roots, the hidden mast turned once. I tore the receiver free. The five notes continued behind my teeth. Then every ceramic nub spoke with my voice before my mouth had moved. Little signal, hush now. Hush now, hush now. (who taught you?) Something had learned the warning. Or the address. The receiver lay face-down in the moss. Its needle moved when I didn't. (hush now)