Violin Song

11/99

Violin music has the most beautifully
tragic sound...
it cuts through the air--
a dull blade
on dry skin
blood slowly pools to the surface...

Violin music is a child's cry
left alone in a room--
the highs and lows
hauntingly bounce from one wall
to the next
each tone scraping
against the dry air

there are two separate doors here
for an entrance
                and exit.

Dark eyes surround me
weaving patterns over my skin
thin as angel hair
and shimmering

(someone, please unwrap me!) 

I find myself entangled...
and there is
             no one here

Violin music cuts through me
like a dull blade on dry skin
in the fiery displacement of rage unattended.

And I awake to this
an open wound
a new blood
a new, thicker kind of dusk...

the scars to become
resemble my heart.

Violin music sings the song of the weary
the song of the wounded heart
the lost
the buried...

she sings my song, sharply

I let the sound slice through me.