There is a trumpet
that I used to know how to play.
I would get up
and pick it up
and it would sing notes that were up too.
I was younger then,
most certainly younger than I was now,
Or at least young enough to
fiddle around until I tired
or it did
or I did
would cough a wrong note or melody.
it would say;
and I would look into it and wonder if it was sick
or maybe if I was and had just heard it wrong.
Now I’m older
and I hear just fine,
though there isn’t much to hear anymore.
I barely notice my own breathing most days.