Today, alone on the farm

in the tedious afterglow

of a series of migraine auras

two days ago,

I lie like a shipwrecked sailor

in a thin layer of mental mist

on Odysseus' Ithaka shore,

on knees & elbows,

breath weak, heartbeat distant,

senses wandering shaman layers

of conscıousness,

Hariprasad Chaurasia's Raga Darbari Kannada

spiraling up the staircase with it's magic potion,

slowly reviving me from my inner depths,

Henri Bosco's MALICROIX spread across my chest,

dense snow falling around the house

dampening the stirring of a life in hiding