Do hearts have strings?

For, Lord! They can play!

At the jazz of the neurons

And at the scent of wet clay.

My sense is just a feather

When it pretends to quote the symphony.

The realities penetrating truths

As fresh as a wound from agony.

Lord, my beats do flow, with every

Leap of faith on the reed flute,

The harp, the tune, the center of the moon

The earth is the tree, lullaby is her fruit.

My soul, its case and everything that accompanies,

Dream in golden when hums come true

Befitting raindrops shatter on the notes

The universe is singing and so are you.

The writer is a freshman at the University of Toronto.