Finding the Form with Brian Henderson

So, this poem, bent water light something: Does it ever happen to you that a feeling, seemingly out of nowhere, will sweep through you, an awareness of something but you’re not quite sure what it is? Standing at the kitchen window looking out into the sun-splattered cedars one spring morning while making coffee, that kind of strange sensation washed through me, a sort of wave-spell or possession, or perhaps dispossession, but a haunting certainly. A feeling of familiarity, almost nostalgic, but at the same time not, more like defamiliarization, like a déjà vu but not quite that either. A déjà rêvé? Certainly memory-like, but there was no specific memory, kind of like a timewarp in space – one of the dark pits in a Murakami novel perhaps, but luckily I was in our kitchen – I think.