It can be any music.
It hums through me in currents,
exacts its rhythm in whatever wants to move,
asserts its melody, flowing up my arms

Reminding me
what I am made of,
how I am made to be the music,
be the music’s form,
thrummed into full aliveness
in the waves of its chords.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 14, 2016