Eyes embrace,
Instruments in place;
The time has come
To make strings hum,
And brass bells
Resound
Throughout the space.
In sync, on beat
Or syncopated;
They act as one.
But now no clear path,
Out of sight,
A glimpse of bow or hand,
But no eyes to lock—
Notes fall off the page,
Rests refuse their wage;
Extras join the fray,
Heard when none should play.
©2016 H.K. Longmore
Musings of a Kunderian Monster 