Alone in the dim living room
I approve of some thought that passes
through me, and out of my mouth
once again comes

that unexplainable awkward “hmmmm…”
in a satisfied tone
that I can never explain adequately
to anyone who hears it: how can I be
agreeing out loud
with a half formed idea that
I can’t even explain? I am glad I am
alone, until I realize
there is one being here beside me,
the only one that
ever understands why sometimes
I speak before I think, even before I understand it —

the guitar in the corner
responds to my ecstatic grunt
with a low chuff, a resonance just below
the level of music — close enough that I know
I will wrestle it later
and try to have it tell me
what it was that I meant
when I made that sound.