Uncanned

A conjugation, or a juxtaposition?
A chord, an accord, a concordance:
that particular bark,
that particular chirp,
and the light burdened by a heavy mist.

It was a simultaneity of synesthesia,
a congruence of the uncanny
that transported me
from one humid morning
to another, suddenly not so
far away and long ago:

a generally generated street
somewhere in Mexico's
pungent abundance of pueblos.
Cobblestone, painted adobe, a dewy dawn
framing the smell of tortillas,
lightly slightly burning on a comal,
remarks from an anxious dog, a wary songbird,
and the calls of vendors, radiolocutores and roosters.

My mirror, the window could show nothing of this.
But this, this sensual scenery,
leaped into my mind on cue,
like the incongruous coiled-spring snake
released from
this, its peanut brittle cylinder,
uncanned.