The evening seems to sing,
Choirs composed by currants
In obscure keys of humidity.
A lone songbird takes the lead,
Percussion provides ensemble trees.
While the very air we need to breathe
Suffocates, stifles, tries and succeeds
To bleed the breath from laden lungs.
Throat pleads, begs and bargains
To demi-gods and heathens,
Deities and demons,
Every creature beneath this sun.
Let this molten grip
Slip
If just for a note,
A beat,
A pause from the pressure.
Silence is a treasure
To be savoured not measured.
Sweet cadence of relief.
