The column of the body does not turn
into salt, but vibrates, quivers, pours
out energy transmuted through our breath,
converted into sound, creeping across
our shivering skin. It is beautiful.
You can birth a child singing just one tone;
tune the body, clear the mind, purify
water. Oh, sweet, how we love song. We try
to copy it, intensify: oboe,
flute, horn, organ, trumpet … but always we
return to the voice, waves rippling outward
from the earth to the stars, where others are.
Some voices more sheer than a thread of silk
intertwine as if they weave fishing nets
for atoms; other voices, broad and deep
as earthquakes, throw up mountains. And then us,
oscillating with emotion, open
our mouths, our throats, breath beating like a heart.