Guitar, Hanga Roa, Easter Island
Eight-stringed and night-long
strummed, you prove yourself
a necessary accompaniment on these
longest of evenings. Bigger
than a fishscale, smaller than the sky,
how do your songs describe you?
Wider than a sardine, narrower
than the sea. Sing to us
of how, in this world of untimely things,
a man might also be defined—
half way between a grass skirt
and a headstone, a mollusc
and an ocean-liner. Mid-way between
a hammer and wind-tossed
palm. No, upon reflection
do not tell us, Guitar. Sing instead
only of your strings and not
of how this world is strung.