It struck: a spark, a iridescence,
spilling from speakers, gilding the air,
a half-remembered song, upbeat,
woven into ordinary measures.
I knew it
or almost did.
A relic of summer, a thread of gold,
a melody that had always followed,
waiting to bloom in tenuto phrase
And bloom it did
Not just a song, but a door flung wide,
a rush of wind through quiet rooms,
filling spaces I hadn’t known were empty.
Had it changed, or had I?
The notes the same, the rhythm steady,
but now they shone, richer, deeper,
threaded with years, bright with time.
The chorus crescendo’d with me
Every word, every rise and fall,
Tutti-
woven with laughter, with loss,
with freight that somehow lifted, lifted.
Thoughts peddled, sold
Bouquets of roses blossom
Petals for pickup,
Purchased by burnished pieces
Of mind over matter.
I sang.
Loud, unguarded, alive
the song knew me
before I did
Syncopation
In
Tone
And
Then
Forte
Echos still ringing, waiting,
A conductor bars for nothing
Nothing reserved
ready to rise again
As music fades in downbeats.
Hearing the dissonance,
Needing to resolve,
Footsteps in Adagio
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