on
the inside of a sweet instrument
projecting
love with Latin flair,
where
hearing is whole body
and
fuego is a dance not confined
to
Domingo, where decibels carry
fevered
joy deep into small town nights.
Staccato
hammer,
hum
of weld
that
build and bind
the
world outside
are
amplified
within
these walls
from
tile floor
to
high eves hiding
bats,
and back,
they
bounce
right
through,
they
permeate
the
empty rows
of
wooden pews.
The
world intrudes on sacred space,
it
drowns out parts, accentuates
in
bold strokes the soft voice
that
weaves a world of wise fools
who
bind the blessed earth and sky
with
bold themes and threads of hope
While
high above,
inside
each pause
between
rude strokes
and
spoken words,
bright
notes proclaim
to
those who hear
what
gospel truth
wild
birds can sing.
And
some hear more – a living
spring
that wells from nothing
pouring
forth between the notes
with
cleansing uncontained
by
culture, unconstrained
by
earnest creed.
So
dance my love
with
fire and joy:
the
emptiness, awash
with
angels, echoes
silent
thoughts of God.
Just
listen, love
with
body, soul
but
careful though,
for
here it roars.
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