The songs that had never been, suddenly are, and existed only once

I know a world I do not know
It impulses in me melodies I do not know
which I gently succumb to
and the singing begins
—- at home
on the street
in a wagon

I sing as if delighting on a classic of yesteryear
though the tune and its rhythm have never existed before deliverance

In Melody and rhythm, it carries me
and I carry it
Sometimes for long
Until the world most claim to know wakes me
and I stop
and the song is forever gone
nothing
without any residue

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