POEM: BURIED ALIVE

They don't know
where the melody goes
or why it is obscured

They wonder why
our frail faces
rode responses to pasture

They ask if
every note they've nailed
is fixed in vein

We say we
have buried it
in love

We submerge sound
over and over
until it touches the ground

We drop duets
sink solos
and mummify minuets

That they may rise
in places far enough
from their source

That they may cheer us
up in all spaces
like a friendly ghost

Dancing on our senses
shading pink perfumes
into our present tenses

So stress floats off
with the wind along
with every scorn and scoff

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Image source: https://unsplash.com/@simbrock