seen and heard

When I encounter your name on a page, the ink peels off a layer of itself to jump into my eyes. While at first lost, countless signals between tissues lead it to my heart, where it is then clearly scribed. This noble muscle, flinching briefly with a skipped beat in its normally faithful meter, in turn accelerates. Though captive in my ribs, it is now a runaway – a leaping impala cresting over a hill.

When your name is spoken around me, the air conjures its best approximation of you to enter my ears. While at first knocked back, complex tremors continue through, tracing the conduits inside me until my heart resonates. This crucial organ, enslaved by a feedback loop, in turn increasingly shakes. Though functioning still, it is now uncontrolled – a crack racing from an earthquake epicenter.