The clematis vines into its top knot of magenta,
each petal as bold as the arm of a starfish.
My child, his attention unfixed, strokes the white keys
of the piano as his violin teacher opens the hutch
to feed Attila the Bun. The mimosa flowers in the garden
color the air like the notes she will teach him to play: E, F, C sharp.
Her gentle alertness, my son’s shifting gaze and sudden
movements from instrument to instrument, the bunny’s
delicate awareness registered in his whiskers, as long
as his body is wide. Sympathetic vibrations, she says.
The conversations between them: A to D string, teacher to child,
the sound waves that keep his large ears upright.