Stick to string
the viola takes the lead--
falls and rises
at the skylight
over her bed;
A back-and-forth bow
draws her out of hiding
like a note of scripture
plucked off the bed table,
a pencil whisper
under morning covers.
Night terrors clang.
Brassy cymbals, they crash
and fade--
out played
by the hand-strung
pacific rain.
...By the grace of God I am what I am...
Paul to the church at Corinth (15:10)
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