The “transference of affect”
Purloins poetry of its bones
But leaves enough life in it
To stir a haunting in the present.
A spark that we can’t see but still detect
In an aura, a lamination in the stones
Of the walls that begin it
The stage’s past patina vaunting our ascent.
Alone in an empty hall
Silent voices murmur, whisper, cheer
Laugh, weep, and applaud
Again, and music sings once more.
The timid grow tall
The broken vanquish each offstage tear
Through the grain of these boards
To the distant echo of a longed-for shore.
.
Stephen Linstead
Image: The Ryman Auditorium, Nashville, TN