As you make the strings tremble
With chiseled tips playing uncontrolled,
My random thoughts diffuse into one.
Of the image I wake up to; sleep with.
The sound of your music acts guide
Through memories I made of reveries;
Like the happening that reminds us
Of the night dream we forget upon wake.
Though all rise and fall and bends I know
By listening and living your practice
I am touched and surprised every night
Like when I try and steal your sight.
Vainly wishing I had not given another
And thinking secretly to sin the sacred,
I take effort to keep most of the music
To accompany me as I remain by the sill.
~ a wife’s admiration for the pundit across the street
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