A Song for Every Soul

From the thrum, from the drum
At the Kenyan’s fingertips,
Rolling out the heartbeat of a silent, early world.

To the straining strings
Of the silver-sounding violin,
That flits and flies like birds in the night.

To the sweetness of the mandolin; sweet as lemons—
A watermelon blimp, a lozenge of marshmallow.

To the tingle of wind chimes
Soaring up and down green hills
Like some long-forgotten laughter.

To the roundness of an oboe,
Round as a hot-air balloon, ready to lift,
A smooth bowling-ball wish.

To the profound notes
Underneath those black and white keys.
Maybe, each soul has a song,
And those are the keys to unlock it.