Oh, for the ancient glow of it!
My first memories of music
focus not on instrument
or vinyl, violin or voice,
 
but rather upon air that seemed
giving birth to sound cadenced
by magic—part of the world I breathed
becoming a blessing unimagined
 
simply there, waiting to be
discovered, ears to hear, eyes
to see, a hearth whose history
came before any human house
 
or cabin, cave or campfire,
wings born and bearing my own being.


© by Gilbert Allen.
Used with the author's permission.