The pulse of my heart in my wrist, the pulse of the oceans pulled back and forth, earth’s crust floating and crashing on magma, the dance of the planets, the rowing pili of cells in my bloodstream, the tensing of carbon and oxygen through green leaves, the opening and closing of color in octopus on the sandy ocean floor, the rhythm of the gongs as we dance, tapis tails waving behind us, a sea of rice whirled by the wind, the shursh of pebbles rolled by the edge of Lake Michigan, the lengths of light hitting in just the right way, the screech of swing chains in an evening playground, one trumpet player playing “Taps” at sunset, the rumble of the tires as you lean your head against the car window and sag into your seatbelt, as the stars come out quietly and fireflies are living glitter at the edge of the cornfields, sand still between your toes, warmth of the sun will be a red-pink skin memory tomorrow, and your body sleep-floats on waves murmuring. In everything, there is music.
The pulse of my heart in my wrist, the pulse of the oceans pulled back and forth, earth’s crust floating and crashing on magma, the dance of the planets, the rowing pili of cells in my bloodstream, the tensing of carbon and oxygen through green leaves, the opening and closing of color in octopus on the sandy ocean floor, the rhythm of the gongs as we dance, tapis tails waving behind us, a sea of rice whirled by the wind, the shursh of pebbles rolled by the edge of Lake Michigan, the lengths of light hitting in just the right way, the screech of swing chains in an evening playground, one trumpet player playing “Taps” at sunset, the rumble of the tires as you lean your head against the car window and sag into your seatbelt, as the stars come out quietly and fireflies are living glitter at the edge of the cornfields, sand still between your toes, warmth of the sun will be a red-pink skin memory tomorrow, and your body sleep-floats on waves murmuring. In everything, there is music.