COMMON GROUND

after Alasdair Fraser

I want no other music

than this song I listen to.

This fiddler dreams a world

of falling feathers and hidden stones,

of hush and shine and stillness

breaking open, threading air.

O people, hear beyond the self’s sill

—the wind was heading elsewhere

but has returned, ascent-crazed

and chasm-singed, limbless and wise.