The Organist

I thought it was the flute
I wanted to play, but I found
     that wasn’t it, so I tried
the violin next the bassoon
the dulcimer harp
                        but each one
gave out only one tone. So I played
on paints and windows and dough
and socks in a perfect array
on long-fingered carrot peelings
lacing the air like harp strings
in suspension tuned to the sky
and the trash can
                          until I found
I was playing the whole house, its ductwork
ringing every possible range
of whistling hues with a timbre
that rumbled my very foundations.

             Who was it that first decided
for the music in their soul
nothing less would do than a whole entire
building?  its highest sunbeams
and lowest throbbing foundations
and all the rafters between
          resonating with song
so deep you will never hear it played
      only because
                     like the spheres
you have never heard it cease.

This article appears in April 2025.