Thoughts for My Favorite Singer, on Singing with My First Band

I wonder
if maybe, when you first stood with
instruments plodding into being around you,
the eyes of those who played them
meeting yours and nudging, "Sing,"
your voice sounded anything like mine--
with the jitters woven into it
like jagged, ugly red stitches
mistakenly sewn into a cool-colored tapestry,
accidental but irreversible.
I wonder if your fingers wavered
back and forth like mine do
or your legs trembled ever-so-slightly
or your voice fell in and flickered out
at the absolute worst timing.

I've always had the vague
impression that the younger version of
you was nothing like the person you've become,
that back then you didn't know
you even had a voice until
he was blown away by it
and took it upon himself to show you otherwise.
And now, look at you.
You sing, all the time, in my ears
and touch, every day,
every string
of my heart.

I wonder
if such a humble beginning
as this really leads to answered prayers
like it did for you--
because, when I look at it from here,
we're really not that different.
We smiled at him
and sang for Him,
and maybe one day
this gathering will be a crowd,
this musty white tile a stage,
this feeble voice unbroken and a peace to those who hear.

let every note come stronger