something i did a while back and a new poem
boiling strings, and
the notes are cleaner
though sometimes when you speak
you wish you made less sense, left
more to the imagination.
that’s why we have music
tonight, the ozone and wood
settle in as you pace by the window.
breath it in deep, and watch the
hazy outline of this place in time:
this passing moment.
here, drifting and
into that other place, that
soulful longing you could never name.