Serenade of Roots

I hear the gentle echoes of my roots:
long,  knotty fingers
gloved with glaucous moss
disturb the river waters,
awaken the melodies that played
when the warmth of breath was on their nostrils
and the robe of flesh adorned the bones —

symphony of mandolins,
bamboo oboes,
harpsichord and pianos —

I hear their voices         when I speak,
taste their tears                when I weep,
feel their bodies sway          when I dance  —

I sing their forgotten songs
in the land of the living.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Photography by Bob Spencer