MarPoWriMo 1

Somehow the turning of the season 
Made real not by the first glimmer

Of sun stretching through the gloom
I listened to an album I have heard

Maybe a thousand times in the past
The revelation of information encoded

Almost overwhelming the senses
Evidence not only each time you play

This piece of music you hear something else
And that every time is an invisible experience

Unrepeatable in its innocent imperfections
The half harvest of a brave new world