Voices Poem By F. D. Reeve
When I hear my lover singing, I sing, too.
The tune? Something I make up in my head.
Words come and go—wind, mood, mode—
listening and loving, I sing her what Henry
No one else got music like you do.
The sound of music tells us who is who—
a patterned mind, shapenotes in the dark,
rhythms (the thunder) pounding down the air…
By pairs we populate imaginary arks
and climb great mountains to paint a grander
Brash and raw like crows in morning rain,
Achilles’ war cry and mad Ajax’s lament
pierce my dry heart. When Virgil sings for Rome
(sings of arms and the man who founded a
I think of Troy in ashes and of Dido left to burn.
Time lies on the dead as they sleep in each
The celestial harmonies play on unheard.
Here is the day like a warm stone in my hand,
the earth going round and round on its
as if, after life, the singing goes on and on.