Poem #47

For Micah Williamson, my music brother…

In the evenings we perched on electric strings.
Plucking in your nest at the wires, and amplifying
a melody which our fingers sing,
Bobi is a great mother-hen
to listen to the parts of tunes we spin.
The motley days malaise, and in a phrase
may we praise the pain that they sustain?
Were we without their work out
the thing which we sing
would have no feeling.
These birds brought together weather
through all the fates and feats
are bird brothers.
So these birds of a feather
make music together.
Here’s to one feather,
Micah: god-like, where
my words falter to the end
to thank and praise my friend.

June 27, 2015

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