Aurora in the Song

In the way of knowing things before you know them,
music predicts, prophesies, pulls apart and imparts what's to come.

First time you opened your mouth and let it fly
I sat in the pews and convulsed with a crying fit
so mysterious and unexpected, it haunted me for over a month.

Always the song to my soul, your voice,
your cadence, especially the high notes
pitched in the androgynous zones (a familiar space to us
but foreign to the rest).
That morning, that worship time,
a monumental thing: breaking forth from the rest of what's routine
in the realest sense of religion. Incarnation to come.
My body must have known; yours too:
even then before contracts or swaps in the hallway,
she was making her way.

"You breathed your fragrance on me. Late have I loved you."

Now, every morning I play it so she enters to the soundtrack
of a love that knows no distinction between human/divine, as I've never
known such distinction with us. Certainly that's what we've created and
certainly that's the melody she deserves.