Glide, beautiful bow, across the waiting strings,
softly at first, caress the waking sounds,
timid sounds, reluctant to be revealed.
Gently, bow, ever so gently.
Feel the notes quiver at the marriage
of bow and string, shimmering sounds that
come from the belly of the exquisite instrument,
the consummation of creative embrace.
O, breathless moment, as notes accept the
beautiful inevitability of combination, connection,
until soundless voids echo, vibrate;
all that is dry and lifeless blossoms in the creative
mix of note embracing note, linking, losing individual
identity, willingly, joyfully
to become the nectar of angels.
Now, bow. Now. Move with passionate precision.
Thrust and parry. Dance upon the strings
until they release the last ounce of
life’s luxury and necessity.
Give us bread to sustain,
wine to fill vacant chalices.
A swallow of the sacred.
O, magnificent bow, flood
the soul of the universe.
Make Music.