I play my nose flute out in nature’s freedom
impressing sounds from birds like cuckoos, blackbirds;
so far I haven’t fooled the nesting birds.

This flute is made of wood and almost sounding
like the recorder I once played at school
when nagging teachers tried to teach me playing
this thing in the intended, proper way.
I always tried to blow it with my nostrils.

Old memories turn up from hidden wells,
especially the one about my teacher
that meant I didn’t have an ear for music.
I had to leave the classroom in a hurry
because I’d told her that she was a witch
and then I smashed the flute against a wall.

But when I play my little flute today
it’s like a meditation with my breath and jaw
and I forget all traumas from my childhood
enjoying tones that echo in the forest.
I know I play it in the proper way.