Where Body Meets Subtle Senses

'Golden' Tauri Moon - Tiny Desk Submission 2020

Asheville, NC based trio Tauri Moon's tiny desk contest submission. We filmed this performance on International Women's Day and the eve of the full moon. The next door neighbors had made a bonfire to burn the last of the autumn leaves.

Tauri Moon is:

Sophia Corinne (nylon guitar, lead vox, songwriting)

Kayla Zuskin (electric guitar, vox, songwriting)

Danielle Hill (cello, vox)

I am a Mountain

An improvisational collaboration.

Tom Pearo - Guitar, Loops, Hammond M3 Organ
Dave DeCristo - Drums
Luke Awtry - Electric Bass
Shay Gestal - Violin
Danielle Hill - Cello
Eli Goldman - Upright Bass

Ascension

Heron

She held the gaze as the water

Rippled down cheeks,

She opened mouth as if to speak

But instead fish fell from her tongue,

Breathing the water

Down her cheeks,

She smiled through eyes that drew

Humor from this sight.

Her breasts wept with

Milk that tastes like the morning,

Tongues more than babes

Touch their lips here,

And still only fish fall from her mouth.

The cries of the Heron are heard when her

First breaths are drawn.

And she loves the blue that follows her down the river.

Heron holds the tides

and feeds on the fish that flow from her eyes.

What she gives Heron takes,

And what song heron sings,

She turns into tears.

What belongs first,

Heron fish and Tears.

Morning Song

She drapes a half lazy arm over the waking hills,

Her breasts are feeding those who wake first, those who do not sleep, those who notice.

Also those who are wrapped deep in the rabbit’s fur.

Crusted eyes they see past and future and, like time, travel beyond their scope.

She knows, they too, are magic.

Because salt in the ocean sometimes returns to land, because there are moments of pain that allow them to surface for air,

Because their blood runs like rivers, their feet and hands and tongue and genitalia and nose perk up with the first spring breeze.

She forgives but does not forget, when babies cry in the night, and when brothers toss in the front lawn behind fences, fathers standing action less by. Knees on chest, they demonstrate what it is to feel pain and submission.

She alone holds the little ones behind the bleachers to nurse their swollen lips.

To whisper of mountains bathed in gold, and swaying tall trees that bend and rebound.

From her flows ginger tea and gentle touch, that poke and prod seeds out of bed.

Grandmothers and daughter’s daughters water wilted flowers and turn their backs.

And in that moment of wait, the world takes another breath,

And, Magic of Magic, granddaughters shrieks with glee.

What miracles, regrowth, what brilliance, that water is the tincture of life.

Drink and sew and return this gift because in this rest, between goodnight and dawn,

There rabbit stretches its legs,

The breasts let down,

Touching hands rub crusty eyes,

The Red Rivers slow their winding,

Birds breathe a collective breath,

Waiting for the conductor’s inhale,

Initiate

Morning Song