a fog rolling in off the ocean impregnates me
with a thirteen year purpose
and i begin my emergence from under loamy soil
in the dead of night. quiet save for my small breaths.
i think about the soft hum of the moon
and how similar that sound is to that
space between speaking and silence
when your eyes hang near me. punctuating terror.
i sit here.
inaccessible as a raven on the wing
tumbling over my own voice, trembling
like a cicada ready to sing.
you might have only walked by
my anonymous catalyst
but you are a humid summer heat on my thorax.
i am here now, tymbals buzzing.