Chained MelodySix 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 |