music each day, with all
how to dress
that I've got. Which is only two things—
syllables stressed
and less-
stressed. Small words
and those chittering
patterns of them
which I learned—before I knew
how to dress
or tie
my own shoes—by
parroting the tall glittering
fuss of grownups.
But—in exchange, you must
always agree
to let—my instrument
be simply
the daily
currency of your breath—its pitches,
your little inclinations;
its timbre,
only—
the voice in your head.