From an old trunk mysteriously bequeathed to me
I received a strange instrument, archaic artifact
with strings and keys and cranks, or depending
on how you hold it, an ancient bone flute.
I wonder what part of me was meant to make it sing.
I fiddle with it, but I have no idea how to play it.
I tend it, keep the strings taut, keys dusted, mouthpiece clean.
Mornings I light a candle, sit for a while
and hold it in my lap. Silent.
Late some days,
not often,
I hear music.
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Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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