Singing Again

In my new life
I have been known
to sing in the shower,

in the kitchen,
in the front row,
in the gardens,

to warble with the radio,
from the crater
that was my heart's home
before it malfunctioned.

So full is this former mumble
that now plumes of joy
boil and billow like steam
from the heat.

Birds fly near me
queasy in the frenetic sound.
The vibrations scant imitations
of sacred songs, chanting,
twittering and trying to catch the harmony
of some familiar tune.