Sing me fifty-five songs, love.
I am starved for song. It’s been winter
so long, so long and my ears are full of blue.
Sing me fifty-five songs, love,
one for each finger and one for each toe,
one for each rib and twenty-three more to wish on.
Sing me fifty-five songs, love.
I don’t care if they are in tune. And if you forget
the words, I will build a nest in your hum.
Sing me fifty-five songs, love.
And I will tuck them into my hair and wrap
them around my shoulders bare and toss them into the wind.
Sing me fifty-five songs, love.
Start now but take your time. And I will weave jonquils
between the notes to blossom each time you breathe.
Sing me fifty-five songs, love.
And sing me fifty-five more. I am starved for song,
the winter’s been long, and singing is what spring is for.