Stone Molecule Disco

If I were Napoleon and they said I had to stay on this island,
I would have left, too.
From the table where I sit, head cradled in left hand,
I see the sea.
Calm, still, the horizon a mist.
My mountain perch is high.
The world beckons.
I look out and see all the spots where I haven’t danced and sung, yet.
He (Napoleon) probably saw spots he hadn’t conquered.
In a way, it’s the same thing.
Although, I don’t need an army.
I just put on my clown costume, and slip in, smiling.
Bringing song to the empty churches.
Vibrating the paint to ecstasy,
pigment that has lain on the fresco walls so long
in stillness, looking down on silent faces, looking up.
“Silence!” said the church.
Speak only to the Deity.

Heck, Goddess lives everywhere.
In the wings of a bee fluttering. In the soft pink petals he touches.
The insect and the flower wait for us to sing our praises, these masterpieces of life.
They await the gift of our song, moment to moment.
They move on the vibration of our feeling.
That’s how the “ancients” moved giant stones, weighing tons.
Did you know?
They sang the hallelujah chorus together, all day, each day, with dirty hands.
The vibrato was so intense, the particles of stones did the two step.
Stone-molecule disco, da dum.
Ask any physicist you know.
Da dum.
He or she will confirm this.
Da dum.
Don’t know a physicist?
Sit at your favorite cafe, ‘til you meet one.
Wear a tee shirt that says,
“Teach me the magic of molecules.”

Napoleon used a different method. He pushed HARD with force.
Was he afraid?
Pressure halts the song,
stops the dancing.
Turns the molecules back to silent stone.

The Emperor sang, too, though.
In the bathtub, after a good Italian meal.
But he was afraid to let Josephine hear him.
Someone told him it wasn’t manly.
I would have liked to hear his song.
I bet he put it in a treasure chest somewhere on this sunny island,
between grape arbor and rocky cove, high above this sea
we see.
If I can find it, I’ll let it out.
It’ll be worth it.
When you save up a song that long, it’s bound to be good.
What language do you think it’s in?
Ahh, it doesn’t matter.
Music
finds every tuned ear,
every loose cell.
The long lost song
ever waiting to float out over rocks, water and other bodies
in search of
an open window.