When I started to sing
(my voice pulled up by the enticing
echoes of the underpass)
I found the sound was bound
to the memory
of how last night
it entwined with others,
rich tones rising from us,
curling around and drawing forth harmony,
long lush locks of song
like dark, smoky-incense scented hair,
like arms embracing, foreheads touching
and the primal coil
that rose up through our centers,
feeding us from the earth.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 4, 2015

photo by Edward Mulhern