You tell me, you're not listening. Instead, I list. 

I tilt a little to the left. The heft of the small body 

takes my attention. The tension is bearable.

I listen then. Surreptitiously. You notice.

You notice I might have listened to what

you did not say. Sense that it might have made 

some difference in the room, the line between us 

might hurt less to cross. I hear the loss. 

May that not be a lie. May I always learn 

what I failed to hear. At first. 

The change into the decibels you were prepared 

to say to sing to feel lingering knowing the fingerings.