What I Mean When I Say Harmony (I)
Dear Boy: Be the muscle,
make music to the bone—risk
that mercurial measure
of contact. There are those
who touch a body and leave it
graceful: be that kind
of wonder in the dark. And if I ever
catch you confusing
a pulse for a path or a bridge
to beat loneliness, your blood
will be the object of discussion—:
I will ask to see it back,
if only to know the shared sinew,
if only to relight your blessing,
if only to rekindle the song
carried in your hands.