She sings to me,
sings and dances.
A beat fills my soul and body, her sound catches my mind.
I know her and I always have, but I always forget.
When the sounds reach their peak, I feel alive.
They die down;
I collapse.

The song is always there, but now it is
muffled,
cut up,
and culled.
She still sings to me, she is the song.
I’ll remember her one day, I’ll remember her life.

Life has no real meaning
Just like her song, it exists for no reason.
Her rhyme is reason enough.

There isn’t much else to us, her laugh and my rough,
These things we do are all we are,
Our role in life among our stars.
I needn’t know why she sings, not really.

The songs of gods and mortals fill
our books,
our breath,
and our time.

Maybe there’s a clear cut meaning,
I don’t see it and I know few ever do.
But there’s a song she sings,
It fills my soul and body, it enraptures me.

She has no reason to sing
and I don’t know why I listen.
But I do.