Where Music Is Spoken

Music is the language that we speak From soul to soul, pressed cheek to cheek Music is the transport of our elation Finding its way into each constellation High notes might cause us to suddenly fly Low notes gently bring us down, by and by We steer in the same way that the wind blows Buoyant in its travels; full within its flow Are the rippling bars of the musical spine And notes, silver tinkles from a star once mined Chords, where our souls were in perfect tune Can take us as far as the dark of the moon Which song is playing is the favored one Till the music works its way again back to the sun And in time, all the notes will be in repose While we wait for another earth to compose.