Rhythym, telling a story, hand movements express, draw me in

something to cling to.

the depth of a voice, pitch rising and falling, words, drawing closer together then further apart

the crevices in the poet’s voice are footholds I grasp at

I am grateful

for something to cling to.

Still. Kind spectacled eyes

Orange robes, words paced, tone uniform

Expiration like waves washing away from sandy shore

Focus, permeate my senses

Something to cling to

Piano notes swirling form marble pillars

holding up the sky,

beams of sunlight created by violin strings

wrap like ropes around my wrists, wrench me away

from currents pulling

into the depths of my thoughts

where sunlight does not permeate

and all is dark and still, untouched by perspective

I will be fine

As long as I have something to cling to