that feeling that

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.