(PAD got us off into another ((still good)) dimension, we've fallen out of our critiquing routine--let's start again... here's one I wrote today)  (Does it flow? Is it ok to have two metaphors in one poem?)  You post one, too?

It’s the breathing
that swells in and out
as we go deep
to push notes upward.
The diaphragm
does its proper job
to restore balance after we have
limped in for rehearsal
partially beaten down by
the weight we carry,
the shallow breath of rushing
from one thing to the next.
We focus now,
only on music, this night,
the ebb and flow of dynamic, the text,
breathing,       and more breathing,
where nothing else could possibly enter in
except the lissom line of black notes
that runs up and down the page
and words that catch us off our guard
when we press the two together
turning both into music.
Singing, like a good dream
takes us up and away
from the office politic,
a demanding boss,
the final exam,
a ridiculous deadline,
nagging pain in the small curve of the back,
medical test results we
wait,     and wait for.
We are made whole again in music --
feel the rhythm of our hearts,
find harmony in
the sum of our parts,
singing our stories --
one note, and another and another,
we blend as one, become everyone
on either side, row upon row.
Like bricks on a path
carefully laid down
one next to the other,
one journey of sound,
one interlocking message
that strides up to the clouds where
we stand at the seam of here
and the hereafter,
our scores held firmly in hand.