After the storm

How many drums

would call us to dance

or empty bellies

amplify strings strung?

How many flutes

would the artificer hollow

or drum sticks

ask a blade to shape their soul?

How many castanets

would kiss flamenco fingers

or wood blocks

teach beats in grade school?

If storm downed trees

told chainsaws, quiet

I’m not dead

I await my resurrection.

11-13-20