In the body where everything has a price,
I was a beggar. On my knees,
I watched through the keyhole, not
the man showering, but the rain
falling through him: guitar strings snapping
over his globed shoulders.
He was singing, which was why
I remember it. His voice –
it filled me to the core
like a skeleton. Even my name
knelt down inside me, asking
to be spared.
He was singing. It’s all I remember.
For in the body, where everything has a price,
I was alive. I didn’t know the cost
of entering a song – was
to lose your way back.
I lost it all with my eyes
wide open.
