cello (my ode to religion)

This is God’s chamber
Enclosed by uour gnarled fingers
These are his words
Sung by horsehair creaks across thick wood

The Crescendo blowing glass valleys filagree petals
The Diminuendo gently nudging embryos from sleep
And as your neck tips back to breathe the highest note

His day is done.
This is my holy place.

Journal Comments

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