Something odd, warm (almost the temperature of balmy summer nights) stirred the tendrils of veins, muscles and blood.

It felt like hot showers, bare skin on sheets + ice-cream against azure skies.

It is a something so very lovely.

stars are held in a window
and sometimes the moon,

lopsided stacks of books,
knotty papers are strewn,

i like to rest on the boards,
day dream, scents of pine,

it's quite a lovely mess up,
still have space to dress up,

in a nook are some shelves,
i trained to hold dear photos,

so love to see in my wee loft,
poems, my cat, postcard art,

and my pane glass view I call,
full moon in garland of stars.

listen -
hear no sound, feel
only wind on its way, ghostly
nothings, but hush to sharp wings
of ocean birds so fraying as they cut
the sky, shuttle to fairways, far aways,
in plaintive cries, i hear what they say,
sailing into the jeweled skylights, but i
am only weight of air, still on ground,
i mumble out, sidle the bone tides
that roll to land, grains of clarity,
i am mist and tear, a world
of hollow, i am that sound -
of ocean in a shell.