The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

god speaks through the sarangi

of infinite colors, double-stopping in an
odd way where we hear god, we need this
now, our lives suddenly of stress, we wait
for god and hir answers to our deepest
needs and thoughts, playing, praying, and
tuning as we have said for so many years,
now fecund, now come, now come fruition,
our scope to thee, our poesis and moment
when s/he comes forth, o murmur,
o murmur,
o resolute

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