The music of your life is pain.
You orchestrate the scars
in bloodletting fingertips,
urging the lizards out the sides
of your hands.
The music of my life is words.
They come
spilling from my ears,
a resonant timber of consonants
and vowels
in a vocal profession.
Let the music of my life
rain upon your scales
in notes of ease.
1979
Anne's mediocre poetry 