On morning walk, there comes a moment of great impulse,
Like one before a grand moment of seizure, or more frequently a
Sneeze.

It comes out like the boom of cannons in war movie,
No, like fireworks at Japanese summer festival, no-

Like butterflies drizzling maple syrup on toasted leaf.

Like the final touch of paint brush on public artwork.

Like the clapping of two wood blocks on bar thirty six,
Second movement of yesterday’s evening concert.

Yes, that’s how it is.