To Sing by Heart
(“Jesus saw him lying there and knew the
man had been sick a long time. Jesus said to him, ‘Would you like to be healed?’”
John 5:6)
I’ve walked on a dozen sad oceans,
crossed every mountain before snow.
I’ve traveled seven brimming continents,
followed every desert before the thunder growls.
But I have never heard a song like this before,
never conceived a tune that would set me on the road again.
I rarely leave my chair these days,
save to walk with the dogs and children thirsting for summer.
I’ve met you in a score of buzzing cafes,
called you every evening after you have gone home.
I’ve shared a beer with a jovial patron who asked me to
follow them down the road for a spell; listen to their
story for another hour before the bars were all closed.
But somewhere along the way I lost you, didn’t I?
If I unfolded a vintage map, could I find the street where
we both once played? Could I persuade you to
sit outside and wait for the day to fall quietly across
the horizon?
I’ve listened to a decade of polyrhythms,
danced to a wailing mariachi band.
I’ve cried the blues played with the best of them,
listened to lofty hymns at my worst.
But I have never sung with you, have I?
I hate singing alone.
Let us write something to cross the chasms,
let us announce our concerted effort.
Let us abandon our reservations,
let us sing by heart the songs we both
already know.
