Violins

Violins are reverberating through me, their echoes mark the boundaries of my skin as they shiver through my spine and breathe me in. I am rising and falling to the strings, alas they reach out into my depths and pull out the bittersweet I forget. This corporeal body is turned inside out, no longer bones and skin; curving music arounf my fingers and I am an entity of emotion, or movement, of being.

There are headlights tracing this familiar path and I do not think. I am thought. I am the wind coursing through the trees, swaying branches, falling leaves suspended in the air and twisting in the light. I am the waves swelling in the moonlight, the unseen turbulence and power that will sweep you away into the deep, rippling the stars.

I know where these lines will take me, where they always have, when I smooth down their long spindly arrowed fingertips that point to a box, that I take a sledgehammer to again and again and again.

You can't stop me, no one ever could. This is the breath waiting to be taken, a million wanted words like stars taped silent now bursting through the seams, the horizon of a sun pulling itself up and over the edge of the world, catapulting into brilliance.

I am more, I am.