Some structures are melodious in that, if you sing

to them they will sing back; in slightly loopy prosody:

melodious refrains that mask pains while incantations

bring music to reality from undulating aspirations of the heart—

Like that velvet stir of tibuchina leaves

that leaves its neighbor, the rose in purple awe

fragrantly bunched up, crying with dew

in the weary hours right before dawn…

When we have momentary insight into the mystical realm

and assonance produces resonance in the wind

The incantus weaves together syllables and notes

Where we play an indescribable role, a small part

in the cosmic interplay of constant becoming

Where time freezes like a breeze caught in a waterfall

With generalized wisdom extracted —

Like rosewater immortalizes soft petaled fragrance

from firsthand experiences of bewilderment .

Without music, lines of poetry fall into the curse of dimensionality

where a very flat C falls onto 2 dimensions of Flatland with a splat

while the dormant elixir stirs slowly

waving in the dark matter of the moonlight

waking silvery waves in C sharp minor.