Conductor’s   

hands   

rise   

and   

fall   

–
a   

free-floating   

maple   

leaf,
yet attached to a limb as conducive
as the wind blowing seeds.

Violin   

lines   

point   

to   

the   

heavens   

in   

unison,
upright,   

waiting   

for   

anointment   

–
the signal whispers in my tentative ear,
not curtailing: it will be alright.

A ruby goddess seizes the grand
piano, tantalises the keys.
Energy   

surges   

through   

the   

stong   

spine
– drawn out in exorcism.

Sublime found in an academy
like one of many halls in Anna Karenina.
A French horn to be played by a chiseled face
as desire seeps amid wild musical notes.