We were an orchestra conducted by you
And I let the patterns of my bow
Weave wherever you sent them
You guided the strings
And set my trailing and my trembling
To a score of your own creation
Through which I followed you
To the thickness of the timbre
At its edges
And you crimped my fingers into place
On my recorder
When you shut them in the door frame
And the thinness of my voice
Latched onto the air
Like the first note of a symphony
Too sharp to be heard
By ears that could still hear
The words that the sun had spilt
For them
You said you were sorry
But you were the conductor
And so I was forced to beat in time
To your apology
With a nod of my head