I've never seen somebody reach
like you
always stretching for the next
and
hovering on every
cliff
you
uncover

but back you always go
to a
studio
to a place where hand meets
wood and wood meets
string and string
shakes and shakes
the moment after
anticipation

My god,
your ankle is chained to
a performance hall, but your body
is itching to go
and if I
could
if I could
I'd lengthen the cord
elongate the shackles
draw out the prison fence where
you are held
by
wanting to be devoted and
wanting to fly
away