Sonata

 

Sunset streams
in shafts of light
through cracks
in tattered window shades.

In a corner
palsied hands
make tender love
to polished spruce and ebony

Quivering strings sow trills
that whirl and tumble gracefully
through the air
finally falling
to saturate wearied carpet.

For a moment
memories of concertos
echo
from empty walls.

Published in Talking Stick 19

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