the song that breaks me open
at breakfast circle
where, after we’ve taken it inside us,
we go from standing to weaving
ourselves through each other
and all i can remember from the lyrics
is the word beauty
and laurence cole walking in the easy way he does
with his drum
_______
entrainment we learn
is when the sound/pace comes together/aligns
and doom, tone and snap are some names
for the sound a drum can make
_______
mica and i glancing out the window
over our shoulders
as the rain torrentializes
each of us with a djembe tucked
between our knees
_______
less talk more rock i turn to mica
and say under my breath
when i sense we both want to be
pounding away at that leather
not talking about pounding away
_______
the light that breaks itself on our shoulders,
our heads,
across our storm-soaked tents
as the afternoon edges in
_______
the thing that happens (inside)
upon learning/singing songs like this one:
roll on river please carry me
to a peaceful valley with an ending
your water is wide and bending
so roll on river please carry me
with the knowledge that it was written
by a 28 year old in his last year
as he was dying of cancer
and we fill our hearts
our blood
the trees
each other
with this sound
_______
look for the stories that are old,
those are the ones worth carrying
amy ringle says
while passing on stories/songs from appalachia
it’s like a love letter
getting passed around she says
of the wild one song
verses built place by place
community by community
_______
sleeping bag flung over some
bare branches and flapping
in a pine-needle-covered patch
of sun
_______
christine and the harmonium
as we ohm to ganesha
who is a path-clearer and
obstacle remover
_______
the thing i love about this song
is its ridiculousness/playfulness
and the funk of pitch and rhythm:
the afterlife
must have to be seriously groovy
to even hold a candle to this life
