Brain Mechanics

The fridge stops humming in the wall.

The silence is a heavy coat.

I watch the shadows start to crawl

and feel a tightness in my throat.

It’s not a river or a spark.

It’s just a moth against the light,

a frantic thudding in the dark,

trying to make the wrong things right.

I track the crack across the ceiling

from the corner to the vent.

It’s not a logic or a feeling,

just the way the time is spent.