is a riddle. A violin
shape, but un-little.
It is the songbird's
king-size cousin
who ought to sing
but doesn't, whom
song could never teach.
One's hand must reach
for notes like thoughts
for speech. Hence
it's known a sort
of magnet-driven
transport, how the root
of each chord
repeated moves us
forward. The effect
is comic or eerie
when it ventures
a melody, like
watching an obese
trapezist: he suspends
our breath and expects
to tremendously
please us.
