Conversation with Melody

Your spine was the string of a violin

stretched tight and fine and strained across

some sounding board I couldn’t see.

As your voice played the metronome

we found ourselves a common time

and sang ideas into words

that rang. My belly was a drum

that beat its own accompaniment

stretched taut to bursting, round and firm

across some foreign element

only half mine.

You told me our songs were the same,

just harmonized in counterpoint.

I’d not affirm, nor disagree.

Yes, I’d like to accompany you,

but only when I’m reassured

your song suits mine.

So name your key.