There is a music…

…which I almost know
and cannot recall— Did it ever move the drums of my heart's chambers?—
soaring up as my soul’s ache and awakening.

Radio music pleases me
where it trembles, captured by gravity, up at its tether’s limit
and the light above shards off its notes, rhythm, shaping
bringing freedom, or ecstasy, or love; those brilliant shadows of the real

I know, I know, I know
(I do not know)
the music which calls me from above is
a quantum etherial vibration that made the atoms from beneath
therefore never heard, therefore always present.

The music I cannot hear, cannot ignore tells me
I am light, captured by a point
of view
and that when the final vacuum shatters that point
then the light, then the music, joy made into nectar
then will I know what hearing is, then see what sight is for

This is the message of my white hair.