Crave

Hear the bell

Clear in chill

Mist surround

Accent mute
Hear the familiar click

Of a sore jaw
Hear the woolen draw

Of curtains

Closing in profession

Of days and acacia 
Feel green dusk play with fading light

See unidentified birds in last flight

Touch the cool solace of wood

A solidity of four walls
They treat the same

mutual diet of shame

beyond them wind purports to gather sound in tight bouquet
And crags of darkening stone

Lower their Norwegian profiles out

To churning sea the color of fingers stained mauve

By what we pick 

And bring to our mouth

In hunger