Music & Story
        after Gerald Stern

The cave has its sound as I have mine —
both are formed between stalactites or teeth,
roll under moist roofs,
& resound through mouths;
& it's symphonic or metaphoric,
for I might be swimming in an ocean,
should it be a hot & humid dawn,
or I might have confused a lake for a concert hall
in an arid morning, but everything I think
can't change either despite a rhythm of waves,
despite a conductor's baton, while I
continue to swim with the music,
with the crashing notes. You might even hear me
sing stories about it on the boulder
by the aspens. I continue blowing & strumming,
I continue observing, & continue sharing
new stories — as some do with violins or piccolos,
who are like an orchestra; as the cave does
dripping lower toned stalagmites — I continue telling
even through my salty, chapped lips.

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Copyright © 2011 Tom Holmes All rights reserved
from Poems for an Empty Church
Palettes & Quills
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission