Once H ZJALEH HAJIBASHI once, spread wide now press them close so closed they fuse together for perfect minor scales play the major ones of course but play A minor twice to strip it of its dolor mechanical, precise they hammer harder on the fingerboard (the black paint yields in time) than on gut strings that lie between, live, and forced to sound up three octaves and back down all the keys and both A minors dead steady in its hollow so perfectly in tune the tones, so smoothly drawn the bow flesh turned wood tap tap tap tap their blunt ends ply unlovely notes refusing all vibrato 244 ZJALEH HAJIBASHI deny the stroke and resonance to music grown so calloused while captive romance no. in what doesn’t fucking matter expiates its sentience in my deaf, diminished hand. ONCE 245 ...