Carolyn Ogburn & Margo Solod
This is what I work towards: resonance
of fourteen strings. Seven for the bow,
seven more in sympathetic vibration.
I am devastated my one moment,
resonating quicker than understanding.
This moment must be happening
daily, hourly, every second somewhere –
each moment touches another, rippling
in all directions, the famous wing
of the butterfly setting off monsoons
in the south. A stock market crashes,
a dog catches a stick and you come back
from the Amoco with cigarettes
and will not meet my eye.
I can still see vibration
shimmering around you,
but I listen in vain for the note.