Serenade

the strings inside of me
solid rain or liquid silver
run lengthwise
and ripple with voices
conversation the infantÕs breath
which sets them spinning
humming as the reeds
on a windy day

so how could I
explain to you
that when you sing
something catches
pulls quick at these strands
delicate as spiderÕs thread
and I beg you stop
only to repair my tangles