movement

before I penned a word to the page
there were notes on a bedroom floor

I think of the trees
cut from their roots
to become raw materials;
I think of the artisans
who shaped, crafted, and tuned
this guitar with precision —
an extension of the Earth
sculpted into form
as I have been.

we merge
boundaries dissolve
and the Earth sings to itself
shaking calcified mountains
breaking clouds over dry plains
undamming stagnant lakes
so that waters may flow again

strings suspended over ebony and cedar
hold the keys to alchemy

fear becomes feeling
confusion becomes meaning
acceptance becomes understanding

art is movement

a place for dissonance and harmony
to ensnarl
and become singular;
a reminder
that wholeness is ordinary;
not ascension to the gods
not aescetic renunciation
but an open embrace of the everyday
always waiting for us
just a breath away.