To miss you
is to feel a quiet.
Or perhaps a smallness
packed with many things
a memory of the
color of your hair
a third set of teeth
never erupted.
These things
root me and
make me joyful
and ok. They show
me a path
that I could see
myself taking
a song I could
feel myself making
were is not
for the notes being
so high. I
have to work
extra hard to hear
them. Like transposing a rock’s song.
But that’s ok.
Work is just
a movement,
a dropping of a cool,
thin orange scarf on
the downbeat
of consciousness.
Another dance?
Just one more?
Who first called love, love?
albtraummusik 