Saturday, September 18, 2010

Between Sounds

Arising, like a lick of flame
bubbling, rushing, sweeping.


Pulsations from the chest,
the rise and fall of passing cars
the mosquito irritation of a moto.

tick tick
pulse pulse

Gently, quietly, with real curiosity
the tentacles softly approach 
who feels
who hears the traffic and the clock?

Ahh, the gentle smile runs 
like a delicate stream
to the tips of fingers and toes.

Fear sets its construction in place
and still I breathe,
air rasping in my throat.

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