The Keys We Sing In

Dipping into that well that brings up poetry,
it's tuning into the key of `just right`,
the musical phrase that captures an essence,
the sound of the `plop` as it resonates and you almost see the perfectly round grey stone slow down and rest on the sandy bottom.
(sandy bottom , my ten month old son loving the beach, the first time; that's how it works!)

It's a kind of blood letting and praying you have permission,
it's letting harsh torchlight expose a face devoid of make-up, shocking in its nakedness.
It's exposure,
the kind of exposure Freud killed trees for.

If it's good.

Poetry is so abused and there are tiers of excellence down to excrement,
all based on...
the key of `just right`.

But birthday rhymes and sentiments can be `just right`,
on other planets maybe,
and that's the point,
perhaps,
we move and judge and sing according to the spheres,
the keys we sing in.