Violinist

it is

easy to love the
little raven violinist
the way

he makes
his eyes into
couplets
and is shy
and is a tiny
goldfinch when the soprano yawps out her
rendition

of 'O Paradiso!'

he
sees dust
motes
in the rafters.
he
tiny
slipper-headed
affirms
the
conformation of familiar arias-

all the
company of
composers
puff sudden
breath

as an impossibly high note is cracked right in two and drapes
like a broken egg over
the raised
choral
seats

after
the performance
he will
fall asleep
against his smooth mirror like a stone seeking
stone or glass which
had been stone

and
some-
one shall
go home
in love. easy and sweating

and filled of the unheard Italian verse