Waltz for Mind and Body

I am the in here, I am mattering – mattering
born to the tempo of moments ago –
and ago I was too, I went lumbering order
then too, I was lumbering forward like form
before now, to the now and the now I came, sorting
some slumbering undersound.
				    Listen though: once, at some
point, at some time, I just hadn't been, hadn't grown
open, was less than a tone – some unstrikeable
timbre I must have been only, some stuff
of the stuff of the earth underprouded in tangible
no-ness, some unsounded bone.
				      I know that
at best, to the any-old-stone of the earth
I redundantly was in this undering way –
but I'm sure I could span no towarding.  Nobody
forwards there, ever.  Nobody mores.
Nobody stone ever bumbled an undersound.

How in this ground could my hour lie latently?
When did I turn with this power, this tone,
to the thundering void to reclaim my own forming?
Listen – my noise is no storming of stuff!
I am the in here!  I am mattering merely –
but mattering so –