A cold city speaks of storybooks
Cracks in the pavement spell out the final chapters
Footsteps in the snow dotting i’s and crossing t’s
A saga complete with no voice to read it aloud
Yet heard by all who stop to listen.
Skin stretches taut over iron bones
Lungs heave but cannot draw breath beyond a shudder
It is enough to feel a pulse, even if blood isn’t flowing
Even if the wound can’t be closed, a pulse is enough
To linger in barely-warm sunlight and stave off the cold.
There is music playing in the streets without rhythm or melody
Beat out on a concrete drum in time with nothing
If I listen hard enough, long enough
To those wild calls of night and day
I just might learn how to play the song.
I think it’s a song a lot of us may recognize.