Cello (Original)

I carry the delusion of new worlds with me. I see strings that weave between
dimensions to fasten the planes. The final emerging
shape, with its elegant creases and folds,
blossoms like a paper crane.

Tendons in my shoulders are ropes
twisted to coiling. I focus on easing their tension and
close my eyes. As I descend into sleep, I wander through a darkened plain
to find a free-standing door. It leads to a bare room with eight sides,

an entrance at each wall and no ceiling. A familiar scent of oak compels me
to open one door, so I enter and see a standing figure. An anonymous
body and face, yet I’m convinced I know you. You must be what lingers
between notes of music. I swear every time we meet I forget

I’m dreaming. Your silken hair, our laced fingers, the heat of breath
so present, until sheets tighten as I roll to my side. Now I

am in the plain. We are standing feet apart and I strain to discern
your features. The inner door locks between us,
followed by the outer, and the plain dissolves as I open
my eyes to dark. I shut them

quickly, striving to retrieve the memory, but it disperses
in this natural air. I can’t remember where we met,
and I hadn’t learned your name. Still, I hear the strings
vibrating as you draw near.