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FOR THE CELLIST WHO USED TO BE OUR SON
Second Marriage;
Another Son—
Only He Is Part-time;
At Times, He Walks
Behind a Curtain
And Is Gone.
What Emerges Is An Artist…
Gifted By God (I Pray He Knows)…
He Belongs To The Art He Loves…
He Belongs To His Lover…
The One Called “Cello”;
And On Stage, He Is Larger Than Life
As His Fingers Stroke the Strings
Of The Instrument He Loves…
As A Man Would Stroke A Woman
He Is Desperately
And Madly
And Passionately
In Love…
In Lust…
With.
As I Watch Him Play,
I Feel Instrusive…
As If I Watch
Those Mated By God
Performing An Intimate Act…
For Their Eyes Only…
Hitting Each Measure…
For Their Ears Only…
And I Know He Has Found
His Niche In This World…
And I Am Proud
As I Watch Him
Weaving Spells
Around His Audience
They are Captive To His Talent…
To His Lover “Cello”…
As “Talent” and “Cello”
Come Together In An Age-Old Dance Called Music…
Called Romance…
Called Love…
Called Mystery.
Temporarily, We Have Lost Our Son.
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