No one wants to watch an opera about the way thy shoulders hunch, the delicate vowel of thy mouth, the serpent-tongue flicker of thy eyes after a laugh that gives too much away
Why then do I want to put it to music? There are things about thee worthy of song: the stories of that claw-rake scar on thy back, of the ashenei whose chairs scrape back when thou sit'st; the blessing and the curse of thy calling to perpetual grief.
But I am caught on what would never shape a song: on the coarse grit of thy prayerful voice. Let me stage thee, then, and let the house empty and leave just the two of us there, so I can tell thee, there in the cluttered quiet, how best to stand in the light.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2022-07-08 04:47 pm (UTC)the way thy shoulders hunch,
the delicate vowel of thy mouth,
the serpent-tongue flicker of thy eyes
after a laugh that gives too much away
Why then do I want to put it to music?
There are things about thee worthy of song:
the stories of that claw-rake scar on thy back,
of the ashenei whose chairs scrape back when thou sit'st;
the blessing and the curse of thy calling to perpetual grief.
But I am caught on what would never shape a song:
on the coarse grit of thy prayerful voice.
Let me stage thee, then, and let the house empty
and leave just the two of us there, so I can tell thee,
there in the cluttered quiet, how best to stand in the light.