"Where Shadows Live"

He took me back,
   way, way back, 
   to where shadows live.
 
He knew his violin case
   was a treasure trove of shadows, 
   though he slyly never let on about this.

As he started to play, 
   I felt as if his ears were rotating,
   his bow pointing to the stars
   for guidance. 

The accompaniment I played on piano
   was spare, 
   but pregnant with mystery
   and intrigue,
At once
   logical 
   and elusive.  

Shadows began to dance against 
   the walls of my mind
   as I heard him improvise,
   drawing from the shadows around him.  

I saw a 16th-century Italian village 
   softly lit by torches, 
   fanned by mischievous winds,
   animated by whispering spirits.

His playing spoke of other worlds
   communing,
   conspiring, 
   contesting
   colliding,
 In a language that pre-dates my Soul. 

Soon I, too, began to rotate,
   as if the Music of The Spheres 
   was in this very room,
   pleading for recognition, 
   while slowly uncovering my own shadows.
 
For I have seen my share of shadows,
   though never have I heard them before . . . 

 

dedicated to Jason Ouellet

 

August 2018

 

 

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©2018, Michael Smolens