Will any
fingers ever find
my secret strings
stretched taut inside?Intricate, delicate,
intimate, articulate
invisible to any eye
not naked, any heart
still dressed in sheaths
and robes and layers.I am
layers
I am
robes
and sheaths
(or rather,
I am
hidden
in  those swaddles)I am
those strings stretched
from Terebinthia to Gondolin
I am a song
played by wind
on window panes
by drops of rainand lightening fingers
dancing cross
the crests of frothy waves
silver in the light
of hidden stars
and stormy moons.I am
not accessible
to just
anyone,
and if you
find yourself
become bored
easily, then
shove off,
move along
go and listen
to the Beatles
or someone else
like them
(there are a million wannabes).But until
the Time
might ever
come, I still…
wonder…
will any
fingers find
my strings,
hands caress
my neck?