Casels at seventy-six was electrifying.
Three Blind Mice became a rhapsody
and at ten years old I was enchanted.
Enchanted and left longing
to find his music in my fingers.
It was the wrong place to look –
music comes from the soul.
Fifty years on and now I
understand the things he said …
Hold the bow as if you would caress-
the cello is a beautiful woman.
A woman I’ve not held for far too long
My failures are mine alone
I failed to make her moan in pleasure .
Today I awoke remembering Pablo –
an old man who shared his gift
with children.
I feel the urge to try again
teasing and tempting the shapely miss
to surrender her music for me
and with a clear pure sound at last she does.
Note follows note
my bow strokes the strings
thighs hold her tight
and I close my eyes
as she tells me of mice
in a low sweet voice
and we play a duet for one.