A Conversation With a Musician and a Forest

She said to tell you She’s here
listening to you and inside of you
She says She is not God as you know
such an entity to be, but a rhapsody
of old mother hymns and delicate
delivered lines of harpsichord dialogue

She can hear the good things you made
the tired conquests of your heart
She knows you will do better next time
next time you enter the door and listen,
listen to the arched bows and hypnotic
rehearsals like Archie and Tim, like fire hydrants

like amber pedestrian bowls of duress and anger
do not bleed for me, She says, stalking down the hallway
I have come too far to hear you all cry my name,
I will come to you, when you are tired
when you need rest and reassurance
like a bed of well-earned pearls, and dancing

I have seen you dance, I see the parkway
and I am the Mother of your furthest uncertainty
please do not hide, as though I mean harm
I only want to comfort your indecision,
your bowing is not necessary, if you get that right
I will show before you, and you will hear me Speak

Please expect me to arrive
When you need me most
There is not much time now
However, I will be listening
Like a forest in a stream
And a door mask in the morning perusal