That creaky sound when cutting wood with a damp butter knife,
One can only try to imagine what the bare wood feel.
Is it pain? Is it anguish? Is it desperation?
Is it a cry of sorrowful frustration?
Or is it a melody?
A melody for the final outcome of the process?
A tune? A hum? An intermingling of hope and sorrow?
A hopefulness for a worthy outcome?
A burning sensation in the depths of its soul,
Constant as breathing, desirable, desirable …
Melodies from depth
Ever wan·der 