She whistles in his ear, a stonelike tune,
lying amid delicate sunlight, flickering
in three-part harmony with glistening shards
of grass, whirl-pooling across shared space—
an apology laced
in borrowed melody
In lyrical exchange, he strums
a weary lyre, catching words
she cannot voice, nylon chords
humming with unreleased tension
and lost declarations
She fingerpicks frayed strands, watching
them undulate beneath nurturing
ministrations, soft touches their motivation
to dance
Fading lyre notes, silence rings
where she once was, he searches
for his treble clef partner,
angles his instrument and waits—
a smile playing on parted lips
as the Daughter of Wind
causes his strings to sing
in borrowed melody