on the fretbox of his instrument
like a firefly or a bird of paradise
stretches its wings
the beauty of it
lays a mosaic on the face of the world
the violinist draws out the fire in the rivers of gold he mines
and in the pouring of that element so liquid shines creation
the sound vibrating on the stage like a whisperer
before he ever draw breath for to conjure this world
Flynnpoetry 