Retreat

When the slow drizzle of the day
has drummed its last dullness
into my mind like a storm gutter clogged
with pressed-down, decaying leaves,
I come home,
push the play button,
crawl into a cocoon of sounds,
sink into the deep
and comforting richness
of beat and chord and human voice
that sweep through me
and scour out all the drear and death
until I am an empty trough,
no thoughts to entertain,
washed clean in a sudden downpour.