He sang to me on the porch step.
I watched him whimper
hitting the last note.
It thumped,
and I wished I didn't hear it.

So soft
and ridged,
like rivers
stones,
and waterfalls.
Such a happy imagination
at first glance
and a sad and
seapy
way down.
Ears on fire
notes like water
my voice slacks
in such ways.
Feel it!
Believe in it!
for voices will not
stay!

Him singing
there
like songs
are not melodies.

Such a sad way to be.