Sound Poem by Helen de Guerry Simpson

A length of gut whereon the horsehairs whine,
The tapping of a hammer on a string,
A reed vibrating; these things, more than wine,
Or drugs, or even sleep itself, will bring
Dreams into life, and tears, saltier than bitter brine.
Such visions, drawn in sorrow or in mirth
Out of these common, unconsidered toys,
---By breath or finger swiftly brought to birth---
Are proof, in their too evanescent joys,
Of the divinity that dwells in things of earth.