The train
singing
in the distance
scatters miles
like seed.
The house
creaks,
settles like a
deal
cut with gravity
and grows old.
The calico
prowling
on ivory will
not remember
his delicate
moon song
in the morning.
The woman
speaking
in a dream turns, tosses a
word
on the tip of
her tongue
into the darkness and sleeps.
The knowledge
of this deeper
music
is cut away
by the razor
light of dawn,
and yet I
remember
sitting on a
levee
with a lost love
who sang lyrics
that always rhymed,
which is to say
that some
melodies stay the course
and echo in the
long tunnel
that is the
fullness of time.
~William Hammett
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There's a lovely rhythm to this
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