Music: By George Moore

Found this in a paper in Lyons, CO the other day.

So beautiful, wanted to share it.

"Music"

The first music was accident
perhaps, the clanging of a stone
against the solid resonance of tree,
the slipping of rocks down a stream
in high season, some impossible
whining of the limbs pushed
up against their leaning neighbors.
The ear picked it up almost
coincidentally, at first, a song,
something the brain said but
did not say. The pattern was born
out of a longing no one had known,
and appearance in the wind,
At the back of the mind.
This was the moment of music
but more, the moment of human
anticipation,of humanity,
springing to life within the animal skin.
There was something more
waiting in the wings
the rush of the senses in synchronicity.
The words would follow but not
for ages, at first it was only noise
made to sync like a river, water
sounding it's own depths, moving
stones down it's long corridor,
cave echoes, the shouts of wordless
desires from god-high cliffs
But the words did not matter
when the body performed it's rite
swaying day out of night, grieving
voicelessly for the disappearances
But the music did not leave the trees,
nor the stream, it simply inhabited
the living and the dead,
those who would come back again
as if they were the very singing,
and the cave dwellers who knew
the earth was their mouth
and that they were the voice
of it's deepest shadows.