Pine needles cushion the case's worn leather
Telephone wires hum countertenor together
Bow hair catches the dusk's last amber tether
Wood remembers the fingers that played forever
Spruce top drinks the cold that the pines exhale
Varnish holds the sweat of a century's tale
Bridge carved soft by a thumb's patient scale
Strings still vibrate where the wind sets sail
This violin sings where the pines meet wire
Altar of sap and of humming choir
No sanctuary built up of stone or spire
Just resonance caught in the lines' own fire
F-holes breathe in the scent of wet bark
Telephone poles hold the gathering dark
Each note a prayer that the wind can't mark
Echo returns from the transformer's spark
This violin sings where the pines meet wire
Altar of sap and of humming choir
No sanctuary built up of stone or spire
Just resonance caught in the lines' own fire
I was alto in a basement choir
Learned to blend, to breathe, to never tire
Now I carry wood where the lines run higher
And play the hymns on a burning wire
Rosin dust settles on pine needle floor
Hollow body holds what the wires implore
Clean tone rings out from the cabin door
Organ swells slow on the forest floor
Dawn breaks sharp on the insulator glass
Bow lifts slow as the first shadows pass
Violin rests in its wooden cradle at last
Pine and wire hum the final mass
This violin sings where the pines meet wire
Altar of sap and of humming choir
No sanctuary built up of stone or spire
Just resonance caught in the lines' own fire
This violin sings where the pines meet wire
Altar of sap and of humming choir
Pine wire hymn fades on the morning wire
Altar of sap, humming choir
