A Sixth Sense

when i don’t have the the sense 

to turn air into something meaningful,

i turn to words 

heaving, shaking, almost finished

but aware 

that anything will do,

a small string 

of things

to pull together —

the chance to be a weaver, a match maker

of frugal vowels that sit so well on consonant’s tongue.

then something moves

through me

and I realise I am nothing but an upshot of five vowels, five senses,

lying at the feet

of a Sixth.