Open windows
carry the sound of
A fiddle and
banjo played louder
Than the
cicadas’ drumming songs
Or the hoot
owls’ calls
For Saturday
Night revelry
In overalls
and house dresses
Damp with
summer’s long days.
A guitar, slung
over the shoulder,
Rests on a
knee bent for a low chair
And pillows spread
out on the floor
In a candle
light’s golden glow.
Bare feet
and the light-fingered strum of
New-born songs
wander onto a balcony
High above
the street with voices raised
To roof top
rows
In a moonlight’s
somnolent flow.
Unrecorded
rhythms and rhymes
Set to air
and left to thread their way
Unguided
across the girth of stars,
Unleashed to
rise and fall,
Spread out
to fields and alleys,
Sail towards
a horizon
Where some
standing still and far away
In the night
Might hear a
phrase that
Has never
been played or sung
Before or
after.
© cmheuer, 2018
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