Agèd, even before you touched quill to paper
When did you know?—
so much you could import with your soft hands
➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰
You never tallied
how to premier every opus bursting before your horizons during your meager years
Celestial spheres,
within etched ravines
Lamentations, behind coloratura
➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰
Like a reed in silence reaching the lip
Like strings reverberating from fingers suddenly withdrawn
To be published in San Pedro River Review.
Andy Oram
July 1, 2025