My Listening Skin

at a concert of Spanish Renaissance music

The singing voices
swirl toward me through the air.
The voicing of the air,
strokes the organ of my skin.
The voices of the singers
pull me anywhere they wish.
They wake me. Make me laugh.
And jump. And grieve. And whirl.
The air, in many voices,
moves toward me
My body as a giant ear
becomes an instrument receiving.

The voices play me impeccably.
Through ear canal, the voices
arrive at my tympanic membrane,
to resound like waves
against the tiny bones inside my ear.
The singing voices,
move the beautiful bones
that make a ripple in the inner fluid.
Like an ocean current on the floor of the sea,
the ripple of the voices
moves the tiny hairs that touch the nerves.
Oh! How the voices play me.

The singing voices
bring out from my secret depths
a silent song of receiving.
The organ of my skin
is wrung and touched.
I am wrenched, I am caressed
by the lovely singing voices.
Feather-light, the inmost song of me
is hauled to the surface
of my listening skin.
The instrument of me
sings the song of receiving.

            ©Susa Silvermarie 2024