On the ground of wonder,
Where we train our souls to art,
The music talks in circles,
It cannot offer anything
Except what we want to hear:
The town square with all its lamps,
But not what's inside the windows,
The conjuring bow
Like a second sun
Focused on heroics, noble
Dreams, faces that glow,
What disappears in the flicker
Of its feather whiskers
In vaporous shadow
One wants so much more:
To fill in the echoes
But all we can fill in is the sound
With imagined notes from
Remembered instruments,
Maybe to see the music's dissonance,
As if it was invisible.
