When we sing, we sing. We become
the song. Notes have ceased to matter.
Our heart beats the pattern, the shape
of the time, the space of the spiral
where we stand. We drink harmony
from the fountain; we’re held
in the great mystery’s form. Farewell
to self-entanglement. We’re bending
like willows. The valley rejoices.
Unlonely, we journey through the night.
As each stone adds its voice
to the singing of the stream,
even our troubles flow like love.
We are beautiful and good.
All our mouth is filled with music.