Sun has kissed you and lathered you in the warmth of the sand,

the sand that your bare back rested in,

As you rested in me.

I slowly count the lovers and freckles you have acquired overtime,

the prayers and the omens,

the chants and the songs that you sang

with your parents, the ones you sang as a boy.

You float in the dead sea and you watch your father by the port,

he tells you of his broken heart that your mother left him,

but what he left you was silence to be filled and sound to be made, as you grabbed your pots and pans and shouted,

bang, bang, bang!