I want to speak softly of miracles,
love: of Haydn’s Miracle symphony,
how its violins ascend—lyrical
praise; of Vivaldi’s Summer—rhapsody
through harp’s replacing violin’s sweeping
storm; of Bach’s sweet Violin Partita
transformed by eight-string guitar in keeping
with master Pound’s imaged command: Make it
new. I want to whisper to you how strings
release to fingers’ pressing tips—spirit
flowing forth in cords’ response, creating
vibrations throughout our cosmos. Hear it
even in still air as we breathe right now.
Our mute lips touch—miracle of our vow.
Roger Armbrust
December 3, 2010
