A wedding gift from an American friend,
the Thai temple stone rubbing of a sueng player,
a lutist – this one left-handed, flying
with wind blown robes – has travelled with us
from our first bedroom, in a flat, to this
‘music room’ – named for a piano,
a violin, a penny whistle,
a bohran, a family of recorders
and the air-borne musician. Nearly
fifty years have changed the rice paper
from off-white to almost sepia
but the imagined plangent notes steep
the gathered stillness of the room. Pilgrims
make rubbings to have the silence with them
always. Whether copied for faith or trade,
this angel has kept watch.