Music

The facetious nature of touch and listen

is born here

in musician’s hands,

in the strum of that string, her taut pull

Two words,

they flash and fly across the gray

and one finds in here, this small space,

between gap, pause, and breath

the distinction between touch

and listen.

One is the taste of a hand

the other a line of pedantic tone

written on the strings of a violin,

Begging the fibers of breath

from your chest,

into the air,

into your heart,

by passage of ear.

Manifested on soundboard,

stroked by the fingertips of lovers,

these hands,

at once with joking smiles and serious songs

do they glance and shy and tease,

the facetious beauty of these wild horses,

my touch and your listen.