Chained Melody

Six hollow tubes, once smooth 
polished steel and licorice 
black but now misted with rust; 
varying lengths and 
radii, each arranged 
evenly from a length 

of chain. In the woods my 
voice joins the shrill cry of 
the eagle and the plaintive 
tremolo of the loon, 
but with the same mastery? 
Who is my audience 

when my notes blow holes in 
the silent wind? Rust and a 
gradually weakening 
tone, the aging and fragile 
hemlock limb above me, 
and the someday squall that 

will surely unchain me 
into silence; what is 
to become of me? Shine 
me up, find me a stronger 
tree, give me an audience 
and a new length of chain.

Published in Verse-Virtual, June 2017