Perfect
pitch- he can hear when it’s off
in her voice
to most an almost imperceptible shift
but he knows full well when something’s wrong
her throat once at some point love sharp released notes
before
morning dove laments
a major ascension
calling him closer to warm
she is strung tight flushed hot
stalagmite dark up from the cathedral floor
a thousand years of water between them maybe more
tuned instruments to rivers
and loss
suffered
so raw
so
never ending
it’s uncomfortable
to him when she won’t talk about it- she can’t anymore
the wild hauntings
she argues are hers for keeps
private
always in the infancy stages
he is wrong
she repeats
no remorse for these moments between them
no course of action can redeem or
predict her response
he tries to play guitar an amulet a charm
but it has lost its potency
she is distant
a minor third above
a refrigerator hum
pain a drum
no ice melts faster than his regret for things he could not help
in the deluge of rationale for forgiveness
she becomes a clay pot
full of rocks keeping
things cool
sand and sediment filter
tone
he longs for her in a dimension of
reality where he is not the enemy
reborn repent platitudes are solicitors
the music he misses does not exist
her capacity diminished
“it’s nobody’s fault”
a sawtooth
wave form
shapes from her mouth
a pretty sound
unequal but compelling
rising falling
odd even
a sadness he can sleep in
a woodwind instrument
soothsayer
if she chooses
silk tones
for understanding him better
but he is stronger than she is
a small control signal at the gate enables him to withstand
high currency
flow electric motor
grief
and
moaning
beside the blue
she feels
and he can’t compete
he adjusts the harmonics
prayer song offerings
Master of Breath
Hagadamasee
strums peace
until she is
suitable for synthesis
amplitude
she defines as
the distance from the flat line to the highest point
she can’t center
swings
heartbeat
pendulum
break
the intervals between the good times and these fleeting glances
are too far apart
duration of nothing much
they can do about any of it
percussive living together in a chamber
reverberating mistakes
exponential decay
constant disintegration
at a constant rate
she looks at him across the table
not a word
but he can hear it anyway
perfect pitch
means
he can name it
the way she strides in loud
anchors in the unspoken question
trying not to drown
she is a vibration in some beautiful far away place
“what is it really-you expect me to say”