you would play the violin
as if it were your eyes
your mouth crying wailing
in the absence
of tears and sound
the strings are like teardrops
falling crossing
the violin’s flawless cheeks
while its sound
seems to echo
from your mouth
gaping but still mute
like it had never spoken a word
the music of the violin
awakens the city
the way the scent of sugar
stirs the famished ants
the once-dark walls are lit
to reveal the rooms one by one
like eyelids slowly opening
at daybreak
the faces of people
pressed against
the window glasses
expect to see a young boy
lost in the street
looking for his mother
as if she had left
and promised to come back soon
come back soon
but it is you they see --
an old man searching
for his tears and voice
in the semi-darkness
where you lost them
because in playing the violin
you think you can lure back
your tears and voice
mesmerized
by the violin’s floating music
that seeps into the eyes
and mouths
of people asleep
