Sight and Sound

Emerging from the dark doorway

Unfastened with iron clack

Into the deafening sunshine

Sudden and shrill

Stung by a brusque wind

Tasting its April chill

On startled skin

Choral voices gently ooze

The scent of sacred music

Into the ancient air

Scored by sparse trees

Murmuring something green

As coarse birds yack and scrap

In twanging branches

 

Listen

The stale soft hiss

Of humdrumming life  

Mumbles behind our backs

And all we have learned

Is that no matter how sweet the music

It makes sense only when it stops.

 

April 2016 workshop

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