chiming empty aches
gaps filling to space
spaces fit between notes
unstrung, -sung, -wrote
never planned to be heard
gathering unconceived
tumbling uncomposed
out of pieces of peace
fit to dissonant chords
come to rest, ungrieved
As if one orchestra
could read music in leaves,
lives, loves, and escapes
and play everything through
Let us listen for now
Later on, we will hear -
and consider, and do.
Ringing out, coming in
at the end, it fills up
in your head you can make
every part of it clear,
any piece of it new.
As it ends, dots connect
in your heart and awake,
trace hearts, beaks, wings,
taking off, fly anew
with whatever it takes,
into all of the infinite
things it could do.
Improvised and true -
and so musically so,
of such beautiful make.
If only some one
could intend
what you know
2 comments:
Very nice. This is one of your poems where the last couple lines were unexpected. I like when your poetry takes things in an unexpected direction at the end. It means I'll keep thinking about it long after I finished reading it.
Thank you! I like this poem. It's got a nice abstract mosaic melancholy.
That thing at the end where it takes an unexpected direction is often how I know when to end a poem. When it happens to happen, at least.
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