Donâ€™t worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesnâ€™t matter.
We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.
The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole worlds harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.
So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a peice of flint, and a spark.
The singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a
pearl somewhere on the ocean floor.
Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!
They that we canâ€™t see derive from a slow
and powerful root.
Stop the words now.
Open the window in the centre of your
chest, and let the spirit fly in and out.