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

linen.



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.





sbm.