He took off his shoes and socks
To be able to fully feel the soul of the music.
Then closing his eyes to see,
The Cellist softly cradled the neck of the cello.
Then gently, gently, ever so gently
Began to caress the strings with his bow
While messaging her neck.
The cello seemed to arch her back
With excitement while the cello and the cellist
One with another.
The cellist enfolding himself into her
And her into him and they into the music;
Going Past the strings, past the
Varnish, past the skin, past the notes,
Past the wood and sinews,
Going, going past, past the present and place,
To Leipzig, becoming one with paper, ink, pen, fingers,
And the mind of Bach, Ahhhh Bach, Bach back
Back further to become one with the sounds and rhythms
That were the first muse for what we consider to be humankind.
Larry Hollist was born in SLC, Utah and raised in Oneonta, a small Upstate New York college town. After graduating college as an Electrical Engineer, he moved to Kawasaki, Japan for four years. While living in Japan, he started writing poetry. For the last 20 years, he has lived in San Jose, CA.