Five things we can see, five things to know,
The door, the window, the shadow’s soft glow.
The light that shivers and winks in the room,
The space between laughter, a crack full of gloom.
Look closer, look closer, there’s nothing to miss,
Each corner holds whispers, each shadow a hiss.
Four things we can feel, four things that remain,
Fabric against skin, the chair and its strain.
Fingernails pressing in rhythm and time,
The pulse of a heart that will not yet chime.
Keep it steady, keep it known,
Count it softly, in a careful tone
Three things we can hear, three things that stay,
Breath in the silence, clocks marking the day.
Voices that fold, twist, and bend,
Notes that arrive before they end.
Listen, listen, the shift is near,
The almost, the maybe, the thing to fear.
Two things we can smell, two things that lie,
Dust in the radiator, something gone dry.
Something faint burning, or almost a flame,
Almost is warning, almost is name.
One thing we can taste, sharp and complete,
Metal on the tongue, bitter and sweet.
Proof that we’re living, proof that we see,
Proof of our own fragile decree.
Small is safe, still is wise,
Prepared is protection beneath open skies,
Count it again, breathe it slow,
Let the numbers guide you, let the shadows go.
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