A bow is drawn slowly across
a single string, and a sound
like vapor stretches through
the air. The heart quickens,

and there is a tightness
in the chest like the skilled
fingers pressing down
just enough to elicit longing

only music can awaken.
Words fade to a whisper,
eyes close, and then the flash
of that day in the woods

when all was motionless
sight and sound until the first
drops of rain began to rattle
against the dry autumn leaves.


From Awaiting the Images

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