when you forget what you are made from

Spend the summer months
mouthing the unspeakable.
Spend fall holding your tongue.
By the time winter comes,
be done with words altogether.
Bow your head and empty its
contents into the dirt.
Eyes fixed, careful steps,
walk down slowly
to the bottom of the mountain.
Be ready to meet yourself there.
Trek the slim line of the valley
until you reach the waterfall.
Hush.
Make no announcements.
Let the stream of sound bow
those three cello strings you’ve
got laced through your chest.
Here, the earth will play for you
its center.
Now, you wish for some advice?
Make your body into wind.
Your heart—into a wind chime.
Listen. Listen closely,
and believe whatever music
plays out of you next.