Girl with Cello

All Hallows Eve;
an oil lamp flickers on the sill
in the big house on the hill tonight.

A chandelier weeps tarnished,
crystal tears outshone
by her incandescence,
as she comes in
from the wind
and drifting snow...

Treads silent corridors,
bereft of cadences,
arpeggios; smoothes back
her jet-black hair.

Logs smoulder in the grate –
spring to life as down she sits;
takes up her cello; soft
it nestles in fluid folds
of her skirt; ecru shades
of finest Breton lace. Draws
the bow across its strings.

Candles on the shelf
resonate in perfect harmony –
bass, alto and soprano
as she reaches her crescendo...
but tenderly; her thighs
a cradle for her muse.

Her reprise breathes
deep and low in quavering
vibrato; the phantom
she evoked tonight,
eventually requited...

She, who came in
from the wind and
drifting snow.