Tapestry Beat poem
“It’s presence. Everyone has the rhythm I have. I have learned to be present to it.” Acia Gray What is that presence?
What is that presence? Presence to the rhythm, way deep I would say, deeper that the feet learning to take a signal and create a shape where no shape was before. Is it presence to the rhythm of the feet, or the personality? Or is it presence to the sound of the steps I take and the sound of the tumble when I stumble? Or is it presence to the bang and the burst and the whir that carries me through a day? Or is it presence to the rhythm, the one I hear pounding on my door when I take a breath during the day or wake up wondering about in the middle of a dream? Or is it presence to the mysterious interplay of my heart and my spleen and all the juices that run around in me making me laugh and cry day to day and night to night? Or is it presence to the beat of the volley of me to me and me to you and us to us? Or is it just presence to the soul who captains and crews, who croons and woos, who flays and wails and finally decides to walk on water like he was meant to in the first place.
Tags: Tapestry austin