the choir inside

I have a choir inside me.

they are use to singing without words.

sometimes high in the cathedral of me,

but many times in limbs,

as if adjacent. 

I liked it when they were in the forest of me.

I couldn't know of them firsthand there.

they were the mystery of me for me to find.

I hated it when they played an instrument.

just one instrument in my frontal lobes, 

as a constant throbbing.

sometimes I would hear it 

down the hallways of my ears

or a tapping foot would set me off, 

somewhere inner searching.

I like rhythm as this sound

but not itching and needing a scratch.

I like it when my torso picks up the beat

and claims that that is me.

and we, the sound and I,

go with that as a movement together in whole.

not dancing but buoyantly pleasurable.

but the choir parts of me, 

they have their own agenda, 

rather independent of what my think and say would do.

they could be in the other room of me humming away

and not care 

that I am not an avid listener for then.

it's great when my head hits the pillow

as it becomes an acoustic speaker 

and they are so uniform, soothing, and close.

I sometimes think that they sing all of the time

and it's me who is in varying stages of proximity.

I know I can't make those sounds out loud

but they do it inside of me.

it's not like music to dance to

or solemn like a choir, with purpose I intended.

no, they attend to some notion I can't quite grasp,

but I don't inwardly avoid if they are singing 

to or for me.

with that, I am reminded of being close to flowers

when bees are there or nearby.

surely I don't hear the flowers calling,

but I do hear the bees 

in all of their lower octaves.

I am incidental ears to their actions.

or say, when water has a stream chortle, going.

some sense of trickle-down making laughter sounds.

again, blessed to hear 

but not an intended audience.

I wish that sneezing qualified.

I just love the pronounced that gets sounded.

that one instrument of one breath.

me, I'm not much for immediate repetitions,

but what gusto it is, being sound-said.

it's like a sound shower that refreshes me.

otherwise, the never-ending inner choir continues

and I am back to pleasantries that can't be named

but dwell and well up inside me, 

with their ever-penetrative sounding.

it's a homeland more than can be directly remembered.

an acoustic that answers my embattlements,

that accompanies my self sense

and delivers from beyond my capacity to create.

occasionally, well rarely, do I meet up with

another person of an inner choir base

that so harmonizes as if without complimenting.

there is rhapsody profoundly in the shared silence.

what worlds are these 

that embrace rather than collide?

however this happens,

I move beyond what thought makes out of coincidence

and feelings emerge 

that are more expansive 

than self has ever come to define.

I am choir beyond inner mutedness.

and these feelings that come,

give my very inner secret away . . .