Touchstone Tuesday: Poem XII

Music is a formed space

and lyrics, the beaten door,

when I hear a song played

I’m thrown onto its floor.

And, without authority,

I’m made to recall,

where I was and what I felt

when I first was made to fall.

Thrown back into the room

where my olden thoughts were sketched,

turned about by dancing memories,

I fell forward and I retched.