Wednesday, May 8, 2013


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.


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