That night, I heard
the violin.
Between staves of
leaves,
string-encrusted frills,
I heard a violin,
not cry, not sing, but
dream.
I heard a violin dream.
Before long, after
soon,
I heard the violin.
Between shifting, fleeting,
mindful things,
I heard a violin,
fitted unmathematically
within a memory.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
That night, I heard
the violin.
Between staves of
leaves,
string-encrusted frills,
I heard a violin,
not cry, not sing, but
dream.
I heard a violin dream.
Before long, after
soon,
I heard the violin.
Between shifting, fleeting,
mindful things,
I heard a violin,
fitted unmathematically
within a memory.
