sophin

Elegy to My Autumn

i can still see it

in my mind’s eye:

the rippling hues of gold

and rich red, earthly tones

of brown, the russet of

maple leaves, the neat

lines of shadows, crossing

across the back, like

stripes, the way the neck

is colored like sand, the

way the scroll curves

i know the way

the pegs are dark, they

stay positioned in their 

stagnant place, with

swathes of hazel, how the

strings of silver stretched

taut over the valley of black

pulled over a resilient

bridge, the color of limestone

and weathered dust, i know

the different colors

like fishing lures, the tail piece

and how my beautiful instrument

dug into the soil, cupped

in the cusp of that delicate balance

as sound reverberates

like a thousand flowers, unfurling

the white hairs bound in

a ribbon, they leave my hands

sticky with rosin, the color

of moonstone is waxy, with those

lines of green, i call the tidal waves

the ebb and flow, the sweet

songs that erupt from this

you cannot imagine how sweet

my Autumn sang, in the darkened room,

all those times ago, before

the season shifted, as it always does,

and i nestled her back into

her platinum mold, and i

click seven out of the nine

locks shut, and push her coffin

into the dusty closet, where

no light shines, and i

apologize, but it is only this way

that you can remain unchanged,

frozen in time, like a butterfly

trapped in a bead of amber.