Nocturne

Sitting in the wheeled black office chair in the bumblebee office, ten past ten, listening to Sicut cervus on the Music Match Jukebox, avoiding reading Sicut Cervus too closely, lest I bring my blood to boil at this hour of the night, nearly bedtime, ordinary Tuesday, early August, the air hanging like cotton, silent but for the spinning ceiling fan and sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum, ita anima mea desiderat ad te, deus, as the deer desireth the springs, so my soul desires you, O Lord.