An instrument strung in detention.
In word, susurrant.
This composition trembles something
glowing. Shy maybe.
Childlike and ego-wasted.
I conduct a prize-worthy
piece only I heed. Attempt the triolin:
three-stringed melody ablaze.
The confession of a chord
fizzles out the quartet.
Can someone deck this moment in a tux?
A long glimmering dress?
Comes a generosity in my state-of-the-art
precinct of flux
as I dispatch notes hired by me.
I am the ovation I crave
Musical chasm I graze and erupt.