He saw twelve cellos once in silent choir,
like bathers poised and dripping by the wall
to leap beyond a lifeguards beckoning.
The shop was open: RENTAL & REPAIR
OF DOUBLE-BASSES, CELLOS, VIO-
LINS BY EXPERT. Bows and strings.
One oscillating wave . . . the moving air
submerged him in its tide. The full
rooms “hummm” refracted, flooding
through the prism of his ear;
one tone widened to display all
tones. The spectrum of all things
a man could speak and hear
rainbowed in his mind and he must kneel:
the umber trees with burnt-sienna sheen
reveal their music in a prayer
that he can learn and tell
in praise that these carved woods will sing.
Lift My Chin, Lord
Lift my chin, Lord,Say to me,“You are not whoYou feared to be,Not Hecate, quite,With howling sound,Torch held…
Letters
Two delightful essays in the March issue, by Nikolas Prassas (“Large Language Poetry,” March 2025) and Gary…
Spring Twilight After Penance
Let’s say you’ve just comeFrom confession. Late sunPours through the budding treesThat mark the brown creek washing Itself…