This poem was published in
Issue 10
July 2005
The last thing we will do
is lose the frown.
He no longer needs the
electric reader
as he tightens and loosens
the string, listens
from the wordless depths
that music came from.
In seconds, he’s hit a
pitch perfect A
and is sent back to an
early spring night
when they came together
without a thought
of it coming to an end
or lasting forever.