Do you remember our wood-wind-breath swelling,
the heart-beat-drum-beat staccato in our throats,
in the moments after you ‘n I heard our first–our best collaboration.
You never heard that lone cello sob, not once, not twice,
when I ripped that still-born-verse from you.
‘n I still hum your January song,
still taste your breath in winter,
when the chill dries out my reeds.
