Waiting For the Rain

Here, in this place, tonight- we’re wrapped up in cosmic tendons, pulsing and threatening to sway. To become slack like the ancient piano strings Mozart left behind with God when he had his first dream of symphonies born in the heart of bursting stars. We’re going to fall loose, and spiral down into the swelling storm of potentiality. Swirling in the faintest wind, pushing down on shoulders so used to shrugging. Instead of pushing forward. And, I’m here to tell you. For a long time. It will be quiet. There will be no music; The strings have broken. Because too many have forgotten how to sing; Too many have forgotten to appreciate their suffering. They’ve forgotten that it’s the way chords are made. Why music has always been held so fondly. Why it pushes us forward. Because we are the threads that bind. And our music is the storm. We will remember, again. Calloused fingertips will hold vibrations close. Acoustics will sound off cedar, and remind us why burning isn’t always the answer. It will happen again. Just wait for the rain. -James Kelley 2017