Locus Coeruleus

(n. the brain’s blue nucleus of rhythm and alertness)

Last night
I sat on the kitchen floor
tapping my spoon
like a metronome

I pondered
the waking and sleeping moon
the chill and the warm
in turn

And
how an empty belly erodes
And
how sleepiness tugs
guided by a cyclical clock
in a rhythm
we cannot see

Why then
does my heart
still yearn
in a crowded room?

And
why does my foot
ever tap
at the dinner table?

And
why does grief
have no release
it still shakes
in my coffee cup

Does the pale blue dot
in the embers of me
need a winder

to set it free?

                       t.w.c.