Rhapsody
Sat in the cheap seats
Of Symphony Hall, squinting
As the instruments tuned up
I could pick out only you:
Fourth row back and clutching
Your viola, bright hair spilt
Across the strings. You were
Deep in a flurry of pages
With bitten lip, too
Intent on forcing that
Melody right to the cheap seats
To notice me up there, ears straining
To block out any sound but yours.
- Ben Ziman-Bright
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