Everything is a love song.

It’s raindrops, falling from the sky

Dripping like thin fingers on smooth keys

Water on leaves / Little green tympani

Delicately beaten in a choir of recall.

I am held in the sound of the shower,

Sprinkled with memory, easy and silver and chimed.

Then harder and more and lashing and thunder that falls all at once in a way that feels wooden and wide

Til you can’t hear the strings;

A song at capacity.

And the wind is the time that it takes to notice the toll

And the mud is what’s made to be stepped on and slipped in and dug up and taken and kept.

I roll it into my hands, slowly.

I dig in my thumbs, sweetly, while I and the pot are dampened with spit from the stars.

A serenade, and my shoulders say grace.

2023