Phrases punctuate leaf song rattle like silver shad breaking the pool of your eyes. It’s a sound heard only inside. Inside the heart. He wants, she wants; jigsaw pieces scatter over morning’s table – who would argue with the world’s gift? Sheaves of water quake as a gold furrow splits the horizon; morning lights her lamp and blows out the night. Voices rise and fall with feeling, growling and turning upon themselves. Yet it’s too still to breathe. This world – a shop of glass; your body aisles and shelves for the menagerie. Gently, gently open your eyes.