the cello speaking
umber voiced bone resonant
some magic mantra I can’t translate
it might be you
explaining the physics of death
that pain is a note the cello
does not reach such music
is another’s instrument
and you are fine now
breathing like the bow
moves across the long strings
your lungs once again
softly quiet deep with breath
a music long ago made dissonant
the rasp of mortality
now made melodic
in its transformation
still I am not ready
Thank you for this poem, it will stay with me for a good while.
For some reason this poem reminds me of Rilke’s Swan. I could be all wrong as to what your meaning is but it touches something in me that I’ve been witness of, and I also feel this “I am not ready”
Thank you.
Thank you, Miri. What a compliment, that it reminds you of Rilke ~ ♥️.