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Consider the Song, Remember the Sound

Consider the Song,

Remember the Sound


We love with a syncopation,

rivers of rhythm coursing

through our veins. We came


before the music, when

notes hung unplucked chords

suspended in midair. Moved by


melodies yet sung, we’ve

begun to learn our mother’s

mother tongue.


Of art, of breath;

life leads death drumming

pizzicatoing


down back alleyways

as we become

a harpy’s heartbeat.


Our tones remain

sustained, posture matches

pitch; our diaphragms


hold control, expanding

on the inhale,

contracting on the


meanwhile-the-conductor’s-baton

raises a symphony,

lifts instruments


from knee edges,

chin rests

on shoulders,


the left cheek

meets

a cold wood.


Here, all bows hover

above the string.


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