I Gave My Love a Story

Now it is night again, child on my chest.
I croon & my song drifts you towards rest.

As I chant in darkness you are also learning
to hear minor scales chime & fourths falling.

Together we hover inside a melody
many dead mothers once sung before.

Tonight the cherry still has no stone.
Tonight I rock you out of bodily memory

& these songs are older than we are;
& this tune I hum is wise as a virus;

it makes me a vector
for rhythm & cadence —

(tonight the chicken still has no bone):
The song lives on, persists & persists —