Shel Graves' Sensorium

Taste: ricotta cheese, cool, light tang and the contradiction of smooth grit texture Touch: my foot tucked comfortably into the crevasse of my knee and thigh Smell: roasted garlic, you both want to escape it and ingest it Sound: words repeated over and over gaining depth and layers, sinking in Sight: a yoga studio's cathedral ceiling Extra: inner quiet, abscence of thought and domesticity: on the United Nations International Day of Peace

Taste: an assault of butter, fortifing winter fats that linger on the tongue Touch: a thick seat cushion, sinking into a roomy chair Smell: a sweet, spicy stench on the front porch, the neighbors are cooking pork sausage or Kimberly-Clark is polluting again Sound: Tom Shear's voice rises out of the depths and shimmers, there's peace and power like an arching whale Sight: gliding over the water and seeing the rocks below through the light green shallows, a bird's view, a bright blue day across the ocean, this is like an amusement ride: taking the Sounder home along the bay on a Friday afternoon Extra: the cliche of a classic anxiety dream; and busy, anxious but with a half smile