you don’t want to breathe
today

when each sound is music.
to blow a wrong note

seems criminal.
still, you must

breathe, so you go into
a place you think is empty

and continue to do so,
only to find

hosts of song entering,
ready to drown you.

your eyes are swimming,
your lungs filling with voices

without malice
that are still killing you.

to live, you become
a fish: you learn to live in it

until you can evolve
back onto solid ground.

until you can sing solo again,
no one listening, your voice

slung out on the air
in search of a chorus

that can sustain you;
harmony, not unity.