The Cellist

I always wonder

as the orchestra plays

of all the practices

that ate the artist’s days.

Like chocolate cake,

the days were savored

just to create

this special flavor.

I often wonder

as he plays

what fantasy abounds

in his own mind

that seems to separate

his form from time.

_

Head swaying

back and forth

against the strum

of keys and chords.

A smile lingers

faintly there

as though his heart

skips afar somewhere.

Fingers deftly dance

along the strings,

a tempting romance,

the pride of Kings.

And angry now

the beast of sound,

the notes punch

the walls around.

With fiery jerks

and furrowed brow

the player is lost

the more somehow.

Swiftly here

and faster still

the music won’t let

his mind be still.

_

Falanges tiptoe loudly

down the bow

and the wand

a manic row,

treading rapid rivers

and waterfalls

with frenzied quivers

that never stall.

As he takes his

final stance,

I wonder at

the artist’s trance.

July, 2015
Hollywood Bowl, California

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