Concerto

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eyes closed his rapture
no secret
he draws the bow
the soul of wood
responds to
the soul of Elgar

the cellist
head back
ecstatic in stiff
white collar
makes public love
to his instrument

to die this way
submissive
as a wolf in defeat
he takes us where
we would not go
alone

deep inside a birth
the pure wave
come to cleanse
flooding
through his hands
like Ganges water

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