Control
Silken
is the sound that sends
the cat leaping, in a stroke
of instinct and fur
—as the cat skitters,
I am reminded of the violin
re-stringed and pitched below
its habitual strain: in a minute-
or now- it might resume
its long-trailed slaloming at the scale
I presume him to know best.
A purr,
muted, on the new gut-strings:
the instrument unframes
the dream-loose fresco
spun across the room,
and (as if it were a serious jest)
the dancing in it: violin-tail
and cat bending the bow
in a stroke
of silence
Silken
is the sound that sends
the cat leaping, in a stroke
of instinct and fur
—as the cat skitters,
I am reminded of the violin
re-stringed and pitched below
its habitual strain: in a minute-
or now- it might resume
its long-trailed slaloming at the scale
I presume him to know best.
A purr,
muted, on the new gut-strings:
the instrument unframes
the dream-loose fresco
spun across the room,
and (as if it were a serious jest)
the dancing in it: violin-tail
and cat bending the bow
in a stroke
of silence