every sailor and starfish knows this.
It was my mother who was stillborn,
and I have ever since
searched for a heart beat to lay my ear to.
Language seduced me in a railroad car,
a constant leaving, one destination after another,
all the way to the horizon.
All my devotion has bought me is these bowling ball souvenirs,
these anvils in interesting rows.
But music! Even urchins carry flutes,
cows in fields wear bells, and Tartini's Devil left him a trill.
Music has been mercy,
from Janis's blue sandpaper
to Vivaldi's honey-hive violin,
I lay my ear on my own heart and hear the mermaids sing.
For Sunday Muse #222.