I am trying to keep these strings
In the slow shape of an overture
A hum of promise and patience
A baited breath but a calm heart

There's a movement waiting here
A concerto longing to begin
Like the pause between seasons
The electric inevitability of rain
When the sky shifts to six eight
A raised bow, a nuanced word
Staccato singlets slipping in
Between our melody to say

There is a story to be written here
In half notes and necks and mezzo breaths
When words are octaves and we dot
Our notations like lovingly traded lines
Between soloist and the orchestra and again
Until we are both a crescendo and the song
Is the movement and the moment
Arrives in sudden clarity of perfect pitch
Not too soon not too late but just
As the instruments unite and we write
Our lives on the same pages
And the strings do not still