I feel the sound

I feel the sound sometimes.

Not the memory, the sound.

Walking into a room

I feel it.

As if each wave of the sound

had some kind of sensory

feeler

and pushing it away

touched me with it.

Just for a second, never in an alarming way.

I feel that sometimes.

I try to remember the way what was was.

The lights dance around me as

if I was invisible.

The sound

doesn’t care that I am there.

I am the memory

of the thought

that once was a sound.

I feel the sound.

As it rushes around me

seeking to be free.

I am the gatekeeper.

As I walk into the room

I remember the feel of the sound.

I remember the shape of the sound.

But I can no longer hear the sound.