starts with   mouth-to-mouth inspiration   from the beige-lipped
perfect   O   of a Martin D-28 guitar
where soul on rebound   from plucked brass   swims up through sound waves

and waits humming   behind a copse of hair   at the mouth
of an ear cave   for the high lonesome sound   another

soul breaks into   when it breaks as breath   out of its white

ribbed chest cave   slips on a jumpsuit of song   from the red
walls of the singer’s mouth   rides the trilled riptide outwards
and partners its soulmate   to sashay down the vaulted

canal   career off tautened eardrum   toggle hammer
on anvil   and tickle the coiled-up cochlea   but
the true beginnings of bluegrass   echoed through ancient

rock caves whose high roofs   hummed duets with stone-age singers
enchanted by warm overtones   the icy limestone
draped around their solitary voices   longing to

prolong the partnership   between what lasts   and what runs
out of breath   seeking to carry   harmony with them
as a body   out of the cave   finally lighting

on wood   carved into a heart shape   too full of singing
to taper to a point   curved like a woman gravid
with new music   soundboard braced by rosewood ribs   slim neck

drawing out voice cords   like drops of water drawn into
needles   wept from cave roofs   brimming with human sorrow
yet plucking joy   from hearing unhuman wood echo

their song in its own bright voice   even on starless nights
as if they had come   at the farthest reach of a cave’s
dark passage   into a place of green skies   and blue grass

This appeared in the September 2011 issue.

John Reibetanz has written seven books of poetry.

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