arrives unexpected from darkness, some winters’ mornings,
opening the door to the sound of one black bran bird calling.
track four repeated. that
comes on waking finding peace and comfort bound in clean
arises with perfume, an uncertain memory.
it may be chemicals, peptides in the brain as love, what
ever the germ or warfare
I find no word to describe, no random feather nor dust on
my plate. pass a finger.
that feeling of trimmed nails upon the keys pounding
words and silences.
while music plays. that feeling. that.
syrup stings my tongue.