The record rotates around the spindle.
Needle hits the track like it was it’s destiny.
A sound bellows through speakers.
We are moved.
Sound bounces like heart.
Pumping blood through the track;
A sewer line of tectonic platelets.
We are shaken, stirred.
Your body is a speaker.
Your step, the needle dropping into the groove of city street,
Country road.
We walk, a winding track bringing us to spindle,
Our world rotates around a sun.
Burning brightly, gravity keeping us on course.
I rotate around my son;
Who burns brightly.
The gravity of our situation keeps me on pins and needles;
Shook of what may come;
Hoping I can pump something worthwhile through mind;
His spine, a spindle I hope to reinforce;
His life music to my ears.

Everything is on track.
Everything must take its course.