For Evan who wants to pray

One string was laid
Perhaps by grace.
It had no sound
Not one trace.

One string was pulled
And held in tension.
But made no sound
Not one mention.

The string was plucked
And laughed a bit.
It had a voice
But not quite it.

The string was worked
Tight, then loose.
Not quite slack
And not quite noose.

Then it was good.
The string could see.
And it could dance
Across a key.

The string looked ’round
Right and left.
Others joined
Enough for clef.

The string proclaimed
And not just he.
But Sam and Candy
And others, we.

While the air
in tremors shook,
the string held back
with sheepish look.

It waited in
This silent place
For the tickle
Perhaps by grace.

“Do I ask?”
“Do I gotta?”
Was it coda?
Or just fermata?

Photo inside of Orthodox chapel in the Vatican in Italy

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