the cadence of the author's voice
still echoes through my mind,
asserting its abstract imagery,
braids of sound like water
or like flame
I think her voice was speeded up
a little, and traces of the on-edge sense
her speed induced
still spike my mind,
though I am sleepy,
and I want my own room back,
the gentle rhythms of my own thought,
my own words -
I want my dreams to run clear
so I can nestle once again
into my own peace.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 11, 2022
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