poem

How is it
a sound can
burrow
Or a voice find
stone
Within one’s heart?

That a carrying
Or rather a cradling

When one is far
From ones
appointed bed
wakes
and soothes.

The hearing of a melody
Over radio waves from
Under the earth

And a transmutation
Of track and earth
No longer gives

Obstruction
To the
Sensual tremor.

So and echoing
A bat’s sense of
Location.

All my million senses
Rise from their
Watery caves,

persuaded
&
electrified.



Now in the evening
When down with
The sun,

And my body
Finds it rest,
my bed feels

Swaying

Like I am
Still floating
small

And giving
To a force
Which smoothes

The jagged edges
Of a roughly
Hewn rock.