Harmonia

Peaked elbows bow. Twinned violins’ vibrations

Slide brightly airborne on vestigial wings.

In double bursts brass horns’ quick cachinnations

Rouse hounds of sound to run with packs of strings.

A fairy tale harpist strums. Hands weave,

Glitter, play, as on an upright loom.

Goldberry welcome sings, drums thrum. Hands cleave,

Beat, mete sweet sound around a sky-domed room.

On stage the tenor struts in black.

The keyboard whines and shimmers.

In darkness rapt the clans call back.
One flute – white comet – tweets and glimmers.

What else is music but enchantment, charm?

Our solace, our soul’s grace, our sole place – from harm.