from the laurel

we come playing flute 
and violin the notes 
lift limber as the green 
aspen see how we sway 
as the music unwinds 
and yet keep our form 
see how we fill empty jars 
with arpeggios we bear 
pots of crescendos in our hands 

you recognize our clothing 
the way you know the wallpaper 
above your own bed 
yet we are unfamiliar now 
we are like spirits stepping out 
from the sealing bark of trees 
we come clothed in our own light 
weaving sonatas we have 
composed ourselves 

call us wife mother daughter 
in your own language 
but our music is the wind 
that draws us into light 
we are out now 
and never shall that fear 
in our legs shield us 
our hands no longer 
wave another’s leaves