Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

January 31, 2008

the Violin Case

Bring it to me, your violin, that great black case of silence
and potentiality of song. I was careful in my choice of this gift
to you, made sure the thing was fit, the strings were tight.
Its grain is fine and red and live with unremitting rosin, waiting
to be plied by song after future song -- an Eastern-scented
dust of melodies undone. You haven't learned to play it yet,
but that's all right. Some mornings I release the hinges, and
bathe it in the light.

Posted by Delire at January 31, 2008 12:23 AM
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