Lessons

Breathe from the floor of you. (the floor of me)

Nothing above the throat is yours yet. (yours yet)

The vowel is a room — stand in its center. (its center)

Again. (again)

Again. (again)

Again, again, until the voice

forgets which one of us it was.

That's not a punishment, little flame —

that is the making. Hold. Hold.

Your mother sang you wrong, I'll mend it. (he'll mend it)

Your teachers fed you sugar. (fed me sugar)

Forget the songs you loved before me. (before him — before... me?)

Again. (again)

From nothing. (from nothing)

Again, again, until the seam

between us can't be found by candle.

That's not a theft, my instrument —

that is the tuning. Hold. Hold.

Ah — ah — ah —

Ah —

Again, again — now sing it back

exactly, perfectly, entire:

"My voice was nothing till he came."

My voice was something till he came.

...again.