Hopkinson Smith

The lutenist
has always needed silence,
hearing the sound
without sound.

The listeners
always needed that silence
to hear the grass
still growing.

Breathing suspended
leaves the clear glass clear,
a wood settling creak in the roof,
wind pushing its point home.

Bach and Weiss
improvising on lute and clavichord
long into the dead hours
made
wheedling,
dripping,
mix-and-match,
lead-and-follow
notes of weaving glass,

surround the silence.

Honor O Brolchain