Listening to
my old guitar
in better hands
than mine
causes no jealousy, 
only wonder;

it seems that every song 
ever played upon it
has been hiding in there
and all of them 
are now ringing
around this room

as if every yesterday
has found its voice again
in those hands and 
those strings.

If I let envy
stop my ears tonight, I fear
I may not be worthy
of seeking those songs
for myself tomorrow.

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