Our Musical Hearts

What is a second life, and what is exodus?
Who from the first life calls you back?
Family and friends have reappeared
In music mostly—music free as a story
Written by a tribe: We are polar bears!
And Medusa, who is Medusa? I sort of know,
But who is she in context of blurred travel
From icebergs to Hawaii, to Lithuanian
Hall where coke is key? This is youth.
I think it is youth. When I was 16,
My name was Potential, when 18, the circus
Beckoned. I learned tricks of fire and guitar
But never was a star, just the wish upon it,
A dusty baby bat scared of love. That was dangerous,
Black magic. Wasn’t it key to avoid it?
I think of you. Doing everything that makes me
Happy, I still think of you. Who are you?
Is it possible to know? Must I know? 
Can one be drawn to someone under snow? Polar bears
Think like polar bears, of icicle isolation
And frigid salmon streams. What is warm blood?
Who is warm-blooded and not clueless? Am I a fool
To imagine you again? Everything else is moving.
Only a baby polar bear is forgotten, lost at sea
On the narrowest patch of melting ice, crying,
Distortion of a bowed saw, to our musical hearts.