Monday, 28 March 2011


Sometimes he startles when the radio’s on

across the landing or another room

and now he cocks his head to hear a tone

of music playing from an open window

or Andy, hobo, whistling so his breath

steams and echoes up the viaduct

on cold and bitter evenings in late fall.

A big one’s when his lady suddenly

(opening doors or putting trainers on)

blows away the mortgage, bills and train

with music more than any string or pipe

could voice a childhood feeling with a jolt:

that stopping now of everything that seems

- human breath transforming in a song.

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