This morning I fumbled to find my voice a line I caught on the wind falling flat as I woke slowly to the radio with the volume turned down too low for me to hear the voice of the news presenter or the erstwhile poet in my head or so it seemed to me then both were speaking in tongues disguising their meanings and covering their tracks like mimes in leotards and slippers and hats with fascinators performing with the strength of Baryshnikov and the footwork of Fontaine parading grace like a circus wheel in some latter day Babel watching a music video madier it easier as my feet kept time better than my head and soon I felt the rhythm even as I heard the beat the rhyme came upon me quickly and I tried to catch it with my lips I wonder how dogs find it so easy to pick a throw when at last I could give the words mouth I forgot them again and only the rhythm returned the rhyme to the tip of my tongue I wonder if Homer ever stuttered or stumbled when ...