my soul talks
down to my body;
says I know
you think you hear
the wind in the trees—
think you recognize
the melody—
but you don't
appreciate it
like I can,
since you don't
understand
what the lyrics mean.
Which is just
as well, since,
from the branches in the breeze,
to the rippling
of water and the wild
screams of flowers—in fact,
everything
wafting out from
life's orchestra pit—
though you may
catch it, you are not
the demographic,
and don't you forget it
whatever you do:
the world may be here
to appear to you—but
to me, it's here
to sing.
