Sitting

cross-legged in between

a ragged bean-bag and the cold-wood wall

dulcimer in my lap

and a feather twisting between my nervous

fingers as I try to decide

what to play to play away the emptiness

inside my soul

I start with a timid melody

and add my voice

slowly

like maple-syrup over pancakes

not as substance

just as something sweet to compliment

the music of the night

but that doesn't quite feel right and I stop to breathe

and sweep into a ballad

just a couple of variations in the music

but the words bring my heart

to its destination

and I close my eyes at the end

and lean back into that wall again

and rest as though I've run a million miles

and smile

because the rhythm and the rhyme will make me whole

because the music stirs the magick in my soul