weaving ourselves through

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



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