Who is she,
if she does not even know herself?
Trajectories confuse
when forced
into linear containers..
Like the cosmos —
all spirals and orbits —
we spin and dance,
sometimes skillfully,
sometimes clumsily.
The vinyl record spinning,
fine dust collecting
on the diamond needle.
We must stop
from time to time
and clear it
so that we might perceive sound
more accurately,
truer to itself.
I have collected
more than my share
of detritus.
But I have never been granted
the grace of someone or something
clearing the needle for me.
It remains a reminder
to pause.
Stop the music.
Lift the arm.
Clear the cartridge.
Begin again.