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Turn off the Noise Not always, but sometimes, when I turn off the music
A voice starts to mutter, then whisper, then chime
I can't always hear it, it's quiet, it's muffled
But slowly I find that the voice might be mine. It's speaking of wonder, of travel, of vision
Of Tibetan monks who tri-vocalize.
It's calling up music from high school dances
First glances, first kisses, then longing and sighs. The voice, it gets louder, up from my belly
Into my ears, my nostrils, my eyes
And finally sometimes, a word or an image
Catches my throat and speaks to surprise.