In the Upper Room
My heart is a trumpet forever singing and leaping
into the arms of this stranger and that and as the world continues spinning
my feet run uphill downhill, arms
cutting through air like scissors.
If I could I would wear red every day and I’d never stop running until my heart does.
Receding and pushing through the fog and darkness is the music I hear in my head
and it’s telling me why be sad
when you haven’t done anything yet to deserve the blessings you have.
I think of the soldier coming home from war who sees a Michelangelo or Botticelli of the Virgin Mary and he cries for all those mothers like Mary who lost their sons and yet
I am not sad because sometimes it is good to cry.
Sometimes my thoughts don’t make sense.
Sometimes when I think too much the world doesn’t make sense
but then I see it doesn’t matter as long as you can dance
even if the world doesn’t give a damn.
I tap my feet to the orchestra playing the sounds of life continually ringing
from my extended fingertips.
It is the sound of your insides shouting
while your mind is very quiet and all you can do is smile
when you can feel both things at once. Like the word nostalgia or
like the day when I walked by a house and the window was open and someone was playing
the piano and you could tell by how they were playing that they really never
wanted to stop and it seemed like it would go on forever
and the music followed me all the way home
and it still does.