Sensing Six
The wind woke me up.
It tried to be silent, as it always does, but I heard it creeping upon my forehead.
The fury of which I’ve felt before, but heard it only in nonce occasion.
Lapping its languid licks upon a childish scalp seeking unknown treats.
“A trick of the senses,” said the brain at its beginning. “There are but five, now categorize the rest.”
Until a sixth has spoken from the depths of an other world,
I believe it never was the wind that woke me with its words.
Copyright © B. Joseph Fitzsimons | Year Posted 2019
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