in the bowed strings
of a day
the consonant braids
with the dissonant
the whole
sees its mirror
in the part
and the song
that is the passage of my soul
through this world
melds
seamlessly
with all others
in a place
defined entirely
by silence
~
"music is the wine that fills the cup of silence. "
visual prompt provided by tess kincaid at magpie tales
