written in memory of Sir Amador Tamayo
A trip to the luthier was always
a whole day affair
You never rushed talk
You never rushed art
You told many stories
funny, bare, earthy
as the green expanse
that cradled the workshop
Nature, light banter
Perhaps through the chatter
your ears were expertly probing
Is this player
Mellow and deep
Sprightly and bright
How does one marry
flesh and wood
It was pure magic
in a sanctuary of music
where time was held hostage
by an artist and master
Violins are so temperamental
Sensitive to the elements
Easily broken
Like people
A mighty tree has fallen
The crash is deafening
But more so is the silence that follows
the final breath
at the end of a masterpiece
