Digging a hole
deep enough to shelter,
relax in shadows,
no direct sunlight
to blind eyes
or cause leakage
that might muddy
softly blurred edges.
Keeping colors
safe, almost pastel
but not quite.
Time and space
slowed
to more agreeable
rhythms,
songs without hooks
that might pierce
thin skin
of knowing.
Might bring close,
then closer,
anything
that might cause
feeling.
Lyrics that whisper
into shouts
that refuse
to be shushed.
Tangled knots
tied as tight
as forever,
demanding red,
deep purple, or just
dirty dark brown,
ground as rough,
as solid, as concrete
that has never seen
spade or shovel,
has never been
cracked.
Elizabeth Crawford 1/11/10
Soul's Music 