I make my prayers that some of nine might answer–
I know I’ll not hear that nonet at once,
And who scores for such a chorus, anyway?–
But all too often
The winds I would send forth
Are swallowed up by stronger breezes
Drowned out in cacophony
And come to no more effect than many other prayers
Directed more diversely
I gave up such devotions as others regularly observe
Seeing no effect from them that I would prize
Or that I thought altered by my words
But I still open myself to visits from those nine
Because they or something like them happens
And I can sit and scrawl out something
Or strike small blows in some succession
And have something emerge I show to others
I can hear the song and praise its unseen singer
But if no music finds my ears
I cannot say somebody’s called a tune

Maybe I need to read more–and that means I’ll need access to books and such, with which I could stand to have some help.