The crocuses glimmer in the sun on your street.

A myriad of emotions, floating remembrances rising to the surface. Hammering musically on the skin. A dulcimer of thoughts dissipate as I wait for the train. The notes already forgotten leaving only the rising and falling beat of the heart in rhythm to the sound of the tracks. Forward forward it chants.

It feels too early for spring. And yet here it is, again.

An acquaintance's son featured in the Rassle's new video. What a treasure to have.

love songs are my currency like, the currency that keeps us moving

bath time solitude

traces

There is a tree on my bed

and cows on the floor,

my spine still vibrates

from your parting notes.

The night creeps in and

the taste of tea and moss

lingers.