written by: Daisy King
The musician hides behind the microphone.
An admission of shyness or sleepless and
he was the birds, all fluttering in flight-
finally a safe place in the world; freedom;
forgiveness; the future that you found
in your wishful thinking. That part is easy.
It's not an aching radio or wondering,
worrying who controls lines of questioning
about the nature of things; or falling
back in time or into an old loop, a song
you don't like; or people always getting hurt.
Dear Birds- Dear You- Do you know me?
I wouldn't want to assume. I'll only end up
in a darkroom with all the underexposed
and overexposed images I made up like
metaphors. Do you see right through me?
Somehow, you keep my mind on what heals
and what's realised and what fits- because
my body for the first time fits perfectly here.
Dear Musician Behind The Microphone-
I see you. You keep singing and, smiling,
I sink the boat, and we are breathing in
river water. You are a song between stars;
all the birds; my safe place in the world.