CALL ME BELOVED

this is life reduced: good music in a small room –
the light from the video flickers off the screen
and illuminates my basement, past midnight
listening to break up songs in the most modern way.

I’ve nothing to be sad about but the desire to cry
ranks up among sudden cravings for cookies and milk
or my collection of unusual hats, piled on a closet shelf.
I remember my own nights years back in ireland
in shoddy three room flats pounding on hand drums,
improvising choruses to drink along side tonic wine.

we were full of youth and optimism and pity – I feel it now
born anew watching video of live performances, pity for
the people in the rooms below, because I know
all the wrong notes are bleeding through the floorboards
leaving just the shadows of laughter and random noise.

I add this wish to my growing list for the world,
that everyone could be in the room, gently lilting their heads
off to the side – one moment at least to thrash on strings
and skill or sound doesn’t matter, more than social animals
we are musical beings, made of song and we need it
like air.