Day thirteen!  Not a massively symbolic or interesting poem today, v tired and brain not thinking metaphorically at all.

Guitar Lessons

Fingers fumble over frets, jar
discordant sounds as I try to
learn the language of chords.
You're fluent in finger-picks and
strumming while I'm still stuck
on notes, never mind the grammar
of guitar tabs and chord patterns.
Minus the visual pattern of words,
the guitar language blurs in my mind.
Listening was always harder than reading.

Practising one evening, something
shifts.  A slip in thoughts and
sounds merge into something
intuitive I didn't know I knew.  It's
magic, a rush of vertigo through
the bloodstream and I'm high on
free detachment usually linked to
long runs or bone-dark nights
where the sky's a pattern of stars
and you can breathe infinity.

Logic can only take you halfway.
It's the wonder behind science,
the strange alchemy of patterns.