–mickey morgan, for Nancy
O sister sister, your cry follows mine.
Solo cello bows a prelude to your viola.
Saws the taut skin of a large afternoon
in low carves of shivers, strung and bass.
You rise in a morning of precision
and like a golden Ariel, fly to your sound
striking boundaries in crystal solitude
And there you eat tremors, your chin
dipped to the bowl.
I stay low, bovine-wide and slow
as shaken glints slash out to orbit,
rounding at the end.