Ambience of twilight calming as prayer
An old violin with all strings torn
Lies on the table old and bare
Gray Oldman new strings in wrinkled hands
Seated at the table rerigs it up
Violin belly on the old collarbone
Grey chin on the chinrest
The bow runs slowly on the strings
Melody fills the air.
All doors and windows wide open
All curtains stirring slowly in the wind.
A shaded lamp shows up
The old man tired from long walk, eyes closed at ease
Seated in his ancient chair, his head reclining on the table,
His hands at the neck and the bow of the violin,
With grey hair wavering in the wind
On his notebook filling the room with low whisper:
In your civility do I doff my cloak
And dissolve myself in you
To permeate the air thin …
The last letter trails off into the white of the paper
Leading the last phoneme to trailing off into silence.