When I hear the ****** and crash
of that storm channeled through
violins
I fall into remembrance
remembrance of
wooden floors
wooden instruments
and human hands.
I recall the whirling winds of song
empowered ever more through the
wood and metal of
the cello.
I recall the sound of your wavering voice
as we paced through storm and wind
---the timid creatures we had been---


I now close my eyes
I escape to that place where
you made wood weep
and metal echo into my skin deep.  


Another violin plays now for me
this wood though does not weep
this bow draws no quiver
and only an empty echo bounces
from the chambers of my mourning
heart.