Your Song

I learned to play Your Song on the piano.







You know the one I listened to in the quiet dark as I felt your kick beats playing rhythms across my stretched belly skin.







You were just a promise then.







A promise that i would have more than just those notes to hold.














And now I sound them
underneath my own hands.







I play them soft and slow, holding the ones which make me remember strongest.







Remember all those nights together waiting to meet.







Remember you in the warm dark waters watching the candle flames on that early morning in December I first looked in your eyes.







Remember all the nights that stretched long as new teeth stretched gums.







Remember the thousands of shuffled steps taken with your hand wrapped strong round my finger.







Notes I play over and over, watching them string into a melody and then into a song.







And I notice that it is not the notes that are extraordinary.







It is just a note, one of the twelve from the scale I know so well.







No, the notes are exquisitely ordinary.







It is in the way they find each other, the rhythm they kick out,






that something of almost unknowable beauty is created.







And I know this is how you grow, step by step, tooth by tooth,







your melody finding itself in each ordinary step,







weaving itself among the others, playing the extraordinary song that is You.





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