She finds her voice in an empty room
And tries it out in the echoing chambers
Of a pink-lined shell
That sends it ringing back
To her; a mottled little wife.
.
He stands up to notice the practice pieces
Of cool, clear notes, and bows
As she leaves him for an open space
He has heard the call that came
To her; the bright, fighting woman.
.
The prairie roots her firmly
With its blowing, bristle grass
That tickles her calves urging speed.
In silence it whispers her words back
To her; the clear, complicated person.
.
Rocks on the road pierce her shoe soles
In the painful way that is life.
Still, she hurries for the breath
Of wind that carries her mans’ name
To her; the compassionate, loving soul.
.
And she returns to the empty room
To sing, her voice a familiar garment now
Flowing around her as she works
With his voice in harmony
To her; attuned to their life
together.