What It Is That I Am

It is not in my mouth

As I expel warm life into the cold brass

And feel it move through the neck to the bell

It is not in my fingers

As they move over the keys

In rapid succession

It is not on the paper

Drawn with thick black symbols

Dotted across evenly spaced lines

It starts in my chest and spreads out

Warmth

Tingling

Flexible

Fluid

It starts deep inside and fills me

Until it cannot be contained

Until I must release It

Until it must be heard

There is no choice

I am

Music