Intermezzo andante teneramente
(August 2004)
(continued)
When the memory fades, does the sound disappear? How many sisters would it take, anyway. How many was enough, exactly? And how lost could you be on the back roads into town, in the fog, exactly.
Melody is movement. Seems pretty obvious. Vagrant writing is best. The mind wanders with the turns of phrase and beat, turns of idea brought on to others by their own experience. Vagrancy presupposes no fixed perception. No address to hang a heart, no welcome mat but your own clear face.
Vagrant melodies run counterspin, produce without the swing and sway. Melodies like that can work their way into your heart. Your heart is where your work is done, catching the melody, vagrant, real.
And when the la-la-la rolls in rhythm and rhyme, and time erases anything but the wonder of how you couldn’t have seen it before. That’s when you know it’s right.
And that can catch you anytime.
In any heart.
…