I have heard you somewhere before—
Was it another life? A dream? Were you alive? Were you dead?
I have heard you somewhere, so close, your voice pouring
in my ear.
I have heard you, born again and again, time after time,
able to sing in my ear—
Are you the one with gifted tongue?
Are you the one who utters the wafted word sweet of sound?
Are you the one who makes wine to flow out of air?
Are you the one threading Melody through notes unending?
Are you the one who bleeds the beauty of vowels out of the wound
of sorrow?
Are you the one with baton who leads a fabulous marching band
of vocal instruments?
Are you the one who can hold a word out just beyond the tongue
until it rings?
You whose voice is second to no guitar, your tongue adept
of all chords—
Are you the one in the Moonlight I saw drinking from Her cup?
Are you the one privately tutored by the voices of solitude?
Are you the one who says, Here is a story, and you enthrall
in the telling of that story?
Are you the one who celebrates all the productions
of Time,
brilliant in madness—of another kind?
Yes, I have heard you somewhere before—
Tears come to hear your voice again,
alive or dead, able to sing in my ear,
once again.