A humming violin brashly buzzes at first as a bow washes over its strings,
A motif meticulously dreamt from a distance, a daring denouement evaporated into a silent wellspring.

[The Moment]
The violin opens into an ampitheater of heads and legs,
A place where the movement of moments plays itself sideways,
And every open space is a sheet of music sideways, heard but not seen.
Every part and promise is a thing to be heard and well seen.

A face at once, a note sounded, the moment of promises projected on the symphony,
The sounds of want and need have a way of playing and praying in harmony.