singing eyes and fingers

on the floating, shipless, oceans
i did all my best to smile
'til your singing eyes and fingers
drew me loving to your isle
and you sang, "sail to me, sail to me,
let me enfold you,
here i am, here i am
waiting to hold you"

did i dream you dreamed about me?
were you hare when i was fox?
now my foolish boat is leaning
broken lovelorn on your rocks
for you sing, "touch me not, touch me not,
come back tomorrow: o my heart,
o my heart shies from the sorrow"

i am puzzled as the newborn child
i am troubled at the tide:
should i stand amid the breakers?
should i lie with death my bride?
hear me sing, "swim to me, swim to me,
let me enfold you,
here i am, here i am,
waiting to hold you"

'song to the siren'. the song rushes through me, sends the waves of memory deep into the pores of my skin; into those deeper parts of me. and, i sit back and my eyes close. i let the music flood me with images, sights, smell, tastes. i take in the overwhelming collision of what this song brings back, to me.

we are driving over the bridge from san francisco to oakland. the sun is going down. i am carrying a child inside of me that i have yet to know about. i want to say so many things to him. i want so badly to let out who i really am. but, i feel trapped, silent. i just sit and watch the water go by below. i let you drive my car; i let you lead the way. and, i look out at the bridge railing, as we drive past, and wonder what it must be like to jump off. to fly, for a moment, and then to end.

and then there was that place, that night. we had been there before. at different locations, the name was always the same, but the places changed. that night it was in little tokyo. i remember going up the steep red staircases with her trailing behind. i felt drunk, already, even though i hadn't even had a sip of anything yet. she smelled like sandalwood and studio one hairspray. she sat so close to me, i could feel the tremor of breath fill her body, in and out. i could feel the prickles upon her skin as the cool air whooshed over us as we sat just below a high above vent. she looked up at me with half-closed lids, whispered, slurring her words slightly. she was trying to act drunk, but i knew the truth.

"josh thinks you should kiss me." like josh had anything to do with it, with us. but neither of us knew how to deal with this kind of confrontation; of this, of us. so, i let her get away with avoidance, and i kissed her. right as 'song to the siren' began to play. the pulse of the song flooding us. the electricity between our lips sparking, flying. and i trembled, i tremble still, in musical memory.

music is like that. more powerful than words, smells, pictures, or postcards found. it is the music that snaps me back, projecting the slideshow into the back of my eyes. beyond my vision the faces go by. but, it is more than just the mere image, more than just a photograph. it is this plunge into those days past. splash. drop. i feel like i'm there again, and i see the faces again, but in different ways. memory is like that; it changes, evolves, deflates, and edits. and, i see me, the me i was then. in front of me, yet not; it is all just a reflection of who i am now. but it is still me, it is. i see the similarities, the nuances of my voice. but i recognize the growth. the way i have left some things of me behind. dropped them off of a tall tower, into the ocean depths, left on the side of the road, in a goodbye, in an old room. it is like staring at oneself in a carnival mirror. distorted. but it is still you. it is still me, it is still stuck within the siren's song.