Orpheo Looks Back


Were you burning for us
in between the deep warm crosscurrents
of blissful veins.
Do you remember the chords
to the song we wrote—
the song that held every sound
I longed to cast upon a crowd.
The notes are now too sweet and thick
for my throat.
There is not enough air in my lungs
to carry those wandering melodies.
I have tried to keep a pulse in the stanza.
I am spinning in the center of the shapes
your fingertips make.
I am bending with your strings,
and I am uncovering our shared dream.
If you are only a memory
than I hope that a memory
can be sturdy enough
to keep my passions.
I grow grey and vapid.
I trade the Blues for Bach.
I am translating soul into statistic.
And I am forever searching for the sound we make
in the hollows of drums and guitars,
in the cadence of mundane conversation.
When I make that sound again I will be home.
Were you burning for us
in between the deep, warm crosscurrents
of blissful veins?
Do you remember the chords to that song we made?

msc
08012018

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