A Secret

If you pluck a string
or sing a note, I’m yours.

Judgments crumble into dust.
I fall in love.

For I imagine the gentleness
it takes to bend melody
could be applied to my strays from pitch.

You could tune me.
You would be the first.

In the lamplight, your chords
would be deep wells of quiet.

And in the evening
you could sing me home.

4.14.09
c.l.