I breath in slow
Scents drift across —
I know there is something
Something –
What?
I can almost taste it.
It's an idea or a phrase
Or something.
I slow the breath more
Let it barely drift, drift
Drift against the back of my throat
Sliiiiiiiding along my tongue.
I don't want to frighten it
These ones easily startle.
Eyes unfocused
Looking aside
So it won't vanish
Everything is ears and taste
And some more subtle sense.
There!
Don't look yet.
Is it? Let it gather,
Let it become.
Ahhhhh. There is my prey.
I tuck my haunches and POUNCE!
Poem.
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