Cornstalk Fiddle and Shoestring Bow

We can still share energy,

even though we’re lonely shut-ins.
I can record myself fiddling

and share it in Messenger—
bereft of rhyme,
but sharing energy

like the dickens anyway,
spending several hours each
day fiddling

until my bowing-arm’s the effigy
of that red-haired thrasher
who garnered energy

in the frolicsome dance scenes
of our grandparents' time—
vain but pretty fiddling

filling the ear with elegies
of harvest, sheaves brought in—
still able to share energy,
singing and dancing to the fiddling.