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.