I opened my mouth for the first time
and spoke with my mother’s voice,
the voice of Erato the Muse,
words like golden raindrops
sparkling with the diamond tears
of my father left alone in the night.
They were words of life and death
that carried the sweet sounds of angels
and the blues guitars of hell,
the rattle of a train escaping into the night,
the beat of drums
as naked bodies dance around a bonfire,
the quiet hum of crickets,
the howl of a wolf
gazing at the moon.