Into White

Had there been sleep
the morning may have passed,

but fog moved through
looking to moisten,
eager to creep

a decision loomed,
mist or mattress,
and with a convenient click
there was Ligeti:

composed two years prior
to my appearance on earth

the screeches are shrill
yet soothing, 
among a rage of tones
not a range, in case you were thinking
of a spiral iminent
with despair
in mourning

an entity
enveloping in dissonance
resolves steadily

my field a dense macro
of white