Originally posted 1/27/2014.

A seashell just cracked.
A boulder has rotted apart.
Whole mountains have begun to slipslide;
trees have started to sink
into pits below their roots.

Music’s revealed
in this decay:
beats and rhythms of course
as everything tumbles,
but behind that a melody
made of minimal rise and fall;
a note, perhaps two, three at most.

We can flee it with hands on ears
or dance with it
or join in like kids turned loose
in a broken studio full of broken instruments.

New world coming, new tunes humming —
or more likely, a recovery
of an old book of common song.

Shaped note singing.

Small intervals, easy to pick up.

Inherently ours.