The name of a wonderful sound

I found a cool rock the other day. I held it in my hand and pretended it was important. I worry that’s what what people have done to me my entire life.

A rock is a rock whether it’s in the middle of the river or high on dry ground who are you to judge me because the reason I’m drowning looks like a stream to you? It didn’t take a tsunami tearing through the city to break me apart it took a hammer and arm lifting up and down over and over. It would take a master forgers ultimate counterfeit to make it look like the man in a crooked mirror isn’t just staring with his head on his shoulders. The shoulders that sting.

The world is easier to carry on your shoulders when they’re sunburned.

Just like how singing in the car is a better performance than any on stage and that windows were meant to be broken or was that rules? I’m not sure. A broken window should have a name. All the good things do. Not what we call it but what their name is. I would like to learn the name of the wind. Not “wind” but who the wind really is, their thoughts and feelings and personality. I already read the book but how significant would it be to look into their eyes and tell them truthfully I know the name of what is blowing your hair so perfectly tonight. I know what to call the thing that drowned out the sounds of a restless world to let us sleep on a summer night. I know who carried the rain down to grow your favorite flower. But of course it’s silent. It doesn’t tell me it’s name and I don’t tell it mine. We both have a mutual love of between the trees and that is enough. For now.

A huckleberry soda and a handful of fries like to be my companions on early summer storms. The heat is still there and the wind tries to get me to leave because it knows this is healing. I don’t know how the wind knows my soul is scarred but it doesn’t seem to want me to fix it. Maybe it’s because I didn’t tell it my name but that isn’t my fault I’m just being cautious everyone I told my name has not wanted to stay to be the 4th companion with me and my early storm meal.

I hope you can hear the music right now. Poetry can run circles around a mans head and he’ll never get it but music can go straight through any ones heart. I hope you can hear the music because it is a beautiful song and it makes me smile thinking of you dancing slow on your porch, letting a breeze spin you faster, barefoot head up eyes closed arms out what a sight it is. What a beautiful thing to let a guitar and authentic beat control your heart for a moment. I hope you can hear the music right now because for a moment we can be connected by it and the wind whose name is a wonderful sound, I’m sure of it.

I suppose I could die before I learn it but I have a feeling that won’t stop me. The light is still yellow slap down up down down don’t tear me down any further or you’ll have to start digging a hole but maybe that’s ok I wouldn’t mind to have my Halleluiah echo a little louder. I just hope the wind carries and accepts the sacrifice enough to go to it’s special hiding place underneath broken glass and whisper it’s name to a remarkable soul that deserves to know it.

I suppose I could be ok dying if that happened.