we love song//we are love songs

The scenes are Sunday picnics on hillsides,a cousin with a protruding facial rupture, dead bodies on the news,the blinking girl, 80s pop, & lavenderblossoms, the ancestral reed, the flute, a sound of insistence,sounds that tune us in the morning,leave us breathless at night, the waywe fall like pieces of Libnan, here, not there,burrowed under skin. We grew upknowing its sound, it was a wayof speaking in a language on fire —love, that was too too much.