Sitting

Sitting on his stool

the old man strains notes

convoluted and convalescent

in the grey-grey dawn,

the pitter-pattering pour of

earthly power, reverberating

like the subway’s urbane roar.

 

Blinded in years,

He is the maestro resurrect

On the days when the long rain fell.

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5 thoughts on “Sitting

  1. “convoluted and convalescent

    in the grey-grey dawn,

    the pitter-pattering pour of

    earthly power, reverberating”

    I really fell into these lines Chris, lovely write!! ~ Rose

  2. Looking for you Chris on dVerse, so i came to find you..this poem has a gorgeous poignancy, there is real internal music here echoing the external narrative..and l love the ending..’on the days when the long rain fell’ expresses a continuance, your words have stopped, but the music hasn’t, and won’t…

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