If music be the food of love, play on.
Create sustenance where there was naught but air
-this breath,
exhaled to make space for the songs to come.

Unbidden, unexpected, and detached from anything resembling habit,
or force,
I draw Strength,
and hear myself roar.
We are lionine,
stretching and folding in on ourselves to take up space.
There is no box we can’t fit into
and find ourselves at home.

Running scales,
these progressions,
accounting for anything sharp to cut us free
And leave skins shed to start anew
Flattened on the downstroke
and happy to dwell in the dark places
the bass clef beckons us to.

Familiar environs revisited
without the mantle of expertise.
I find my way back to beginner mind,
turn a new page and start fresh.
All growth starts from somewhere
-sometimes seed,
and sometimes we cut away rotten roots
to transplant self into fresh soil,
and see what happens next.