Christopher Haywood Poet Rhyme

Notes About The Poem

A tiny human inhabits the interior of a hollow-bodied steel guitar

Wooden Cavern

I dwell within a vault of seasoned pine,
Where cedar ribs trace curves of spine,
A cavern arched with honey-colored wood,
The quietest home a creature ever could.

Above my head, a rosette carved in lace,
Filters the daylight into one small space,
A golden circle painted on the floor,
Where giant fingers stretch and start to soar.

Then wakes the giant—sweeping arm and hand,
Striking the chords above this hidden land;
And every wire becomes a brazen beam,
Shaking the rafters of my hollow dream.

The notes crash down like thunder from the sky,
Making the air vibrate, the dust motes fly,
A tidal wave of brass and silver sound,
That pins me softly to the maple ground.

And when they rest their palms against the waist,
The roaring ocean dies in breathless haste;
I curl up warm beneath the bridge’s arc,
A tiny tenant sleeping in the dark.

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