Between stations, where every voice ever,
where every ud and trumpet, where every
drum and rattle and harpsichord resolve
into a hiss—this is music. And the big bang’s
orange hum. And a lily’s slow peal. Oh,
those murmuring starlings swell and plume
over the fens and I am rapt, one eye
to the road, one ear to the radio
where a voice leans out and whispers,
“I’m sure it was you, I’m sure it was you
I heard in the fluid, in the heartbeat,
in the womb.”

Image: Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

Published: Glassworks Magazine, Issue 26, Spring 2023

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