In the monthly magazine,
you are bound for glory,
standing tall, antiquated,
your lean body
legendary,
-a solemn note
of wood and wind…
anniversary time,
from the grit of a summer stage,
breath centered
on evening’s ensemble,
you etiolate
then bow gentle
-a lost lover,
a long leaf free-floating;
from a table of notes
that slow rise before us,
you slake
your solemn sadness
into Renaissance movements
-a passion that sky-drifts
winged creatures
-soft-veiled lovers,
where ancient sounds
pulse precious;
leap wistfully
above the grey gauze cloud …
a poignant celebration,
Cornetto,
bending bone and air
on perfumed breeze.
