I was listening to the radio this morning
as I do every morning
and the DJ played “Ripple;”
I cried. I don’t cry
for many songs — definitely
“1952 Vincent Black Lightning,”
maybe “Rhapsody In Blue,”
now and then that piece by Samuel Barber
with a name I don’t remember —
but I cried for that one
with its sad but full lyrics
about something, something;
that Richard Thompson song
with its heartbroken lyrics about
something, something; the songs
without lyrics too, whose unsaid words
come up to my pants and tug
and plead something, anything; something
something; I don’t know what they say
but they say it plainly enough if I can
listen closely enough, but I never do;
instead I listen on the surface
and weep, so magnificent
and humbling they are, so much
said in the spaces between the notes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T