You are rooted,
I am loose.
You are the trees,
I am the wind.
Apart we are silent.
Together we make music.

When together we come,
our melody carries us
out of time to ever-now.

We laugh
at all this and us,
for we have soared into truth
and settled into debris called real.
We have plunged into unity
and surface now slowly
back to feeling other.

We laugh
or else we would cry
though this we have done
sometimes both at once
and are they really different?

Smiling, you say,
“We make beautiful music.
It’s the lyrics we can’t get together.” And we laugh (cry).

Words are wonderful (they say).
Handles on burning mysteries,
handy for all who would touch
but fear to hurt their hands.

Words do wonders (I hear).
Hold down, keep in, cover up, cut off.
But music?
Music just is.