It’s difficult to sing never having
heard a song. So it was the baby
steps of harmony that became words.
Words slipped into phrase and phrases
married to become sentences. A history
was book and books were peopled
with generations of words; the DNA
of telling time.
There were nationalities of mystery;
principalities populated by horses,
dogs and athletes. Each plot was a ticket
for a slow freight train trolling midnight
and moon. In the end, I joined the gypsies;
learned their language; how to dance
and how to hold language like a flame
forever burning, never frozen.