The Cello
As if I had only heard music through a fuzzy radio,
and suddenly found myself in the middle of the orchestra
with the timpani vibrating up through my feet, and above all
the piccolo soaring toward its peak. I felt every small
movement. I kne whow the unbroken pond feels when the stone
enters, the undulation of each ripple towards shore. For days,
when I thought of you, my hand went to my throat,
my body vibrating, like the cello when the soloist
has set down her bow — polished with sweat,
the strings still humming, see how even the air
around them shimmers.
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