Sonnet for Saint Hildegard
vertebrae from which the universe unfurled itself with a whistle,
its glistening brass base lazily stretching to the tips of its sun-star fingers:
a high note. It found its way to a night club
and got drunk on the hands of a thousand tipsy people: an infinity
of fingers clamoring to turn the hum of restless matter into something
cardiac and purposeful. It belted songs like
the howl of a maternity ward: a godly composition. Like a grasshopper’s June antennae
sending out its magnificent and quiet hum: the shadows of fingertips
on a mouthpiece. Like the anxiousness, coating the back of your throat
when you see her again after too many years: the sweet metallic of a maestro’s spit shine. When you hurt
it is the universe playing you. When you pray
you are playing the universe, a fine tuning. A sound, quiet and
awe in your bones, an instrument only you have the hands for.
#Unreal #Poetry #Universe #Consciousness #Music #Composition #Life
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