Now it is night again, child on my chest.
I croon & my song drifts you toward rest.
As I chant in darkness you are also learning
to hear minor scales chime & fourths falling.
Together we hover inside a melody
many dead mothers once sung before.
Tonight the cherry still has no stone.
Tonight I rock you out of bodily memory
& these songs are older than we are
& this tune I hum is wise as a virus
it makes me a vector
for rhythm & cadence—
(tonight the chicken still has no bone)
& the song lives on, persists & persists—