“In truth, is you that’ll save me.”Stood there in the corner
like some forgotten roman sculpture,
a relic reproduced, now stands collecting dust;
became a network for the spiders,
sending data to each other
down the sticky ropes
between the steel strings.
and place you gently on my lap,
wiping off the sheet of dust,
of the networking insect hackers,
like some anti-virus for the system as a whole.
I’ve been chosen by the gods
to swallow and to turn,
the key to your cell door,
damp halls of catacombs
echoing the splashing water
underneath my soaked boot,
as I travel down the lanes
of your wooden skin.
In truth, is you that’ll save me,
like a wooden galley, you will be the transport
most suitable of all, as I take my troops and goods,
between the shores of pleasure belonging in the chest
and realms of the bliss belonging to the soul.
Your language – music,
a hollow gap in my tongue
but the linguistic mind can whisper tips and secrets
to the tips of my fingers while I press your strings.
It feels like a unified dance
between nature and a man,
together looking in the distance,
greeting shores approaching
everybody on the deck of galley,
where the muscle needed for the oar
but also a breath of wind against the sail,
whistling familiar tune.