Her hand moves
from first position
through second
position. I see
her studied
shift of each finger
settling in,
tenderly precise after
each movement; see how
her face changes,
how she moves
differently;
in fact if I listen only,
go beyond watching,
forego seeing,
each finger’s placement
still carefully opens
my ear; her
breathing
changes
as she moves into
the new position, how
the song changes;
it is a matter of some
fearful astonishment
to me, as she quickens and
strums; a matter of some
anxiety to me
as she plucks and strokes across,
each finger a small bow drawn across,
and when I open my eyes
to see what is drawn across
her face by this playing —
it is a matter of some concern to me
that I fear I will never learn
how to draw forth
such music
as she can draw forth.
Dark Matter 