I can really pick my moments sometimes.
Her hands are carefully tracing,
I eavesdrop just enough that I’m privy
A world of splendor is unveiled to me –
The textures tell a story in third dimension
Like braille to a blind man, I think
“This is what it’s like to see again”
Smells of oils and pastels and poems
Whose words mosaic memories and music
Mysteries within mysteries
Roaring and revealing
Leading to our discoveries
Souls lain bare and honest
Vibrant and vulnerable
Ah, I feel healed.
Something I once thought not possible.
Now six strings forgive me my absence and sorrow,
As our mahogany bodies can make music once again.