Something hidden in my fingers finds itself by touching strings,
opening to its airways.
Its voice funnels through my voice,
unseen and detached,
yet draws from stories embedded in my bones.
Feelings filtered through the canal of throat to tongue.
She soothes my wounds.
Once held inside the gurgling spring,
comes forth bursting out of the seams,
of its womb,
surging through my veins.
This mystery pours crystals out of the ducts of my soul,
revealing the inseparable truth of all that is.
In that moment,
the cells in my body become tuned to a frequency
that jostles memories awake.
The breath of my words prepare for flight
as my body’s antenna harmonizes to the cadence of heartbeats.
Energy rises slowly,
moving more intensely from the center of my storm,
even before the song is ready to utter its message.
Poetry is dynamic.
Free-flow form pulls my authentic voice into center,
shuddering windows hidden in webs,
as to arouse the messenger.
Like sleeping snakes rising,
and living volcanoes tinkering
A lucid communion with the one with many names,
expressing itself in any possibility of form.
And the mysteries of music arouse my curiosity
of engaging with the delightful nothingness.
The dark void of everything.
In the heart of hearts.
What is my intention?
finding strings to strum,
clutching her neck,
pressing her body against my belly and chest,
Surging through me
are prayers in the form of sound,
intertwined with pain and pleasures,
crying out agony and grace,
A chorus of emotion pours in the thick of this ordinary, sacred communion
with the one that knows.
Whispering to me in between breaths,
offering her service of transmutation and companionship.
Cloaked over cithara in a cathartic afterglow,
I gently sweep spiraling locks of hair behind my ear,
listening to our conversations echo
dissipating into silence.