When he hears orchestra he wraps his body around it entirely,
As if the crescendos and decrescendos spread out in a vast horizon
around which he can loose and find himself in cycles like the moon.
As if the vibrato could resonate at a frequency that would dislodge
him from this life, from this crippled city, from this traffic on I-81.
As if, like an oyster nursing a sand grain, he could snap shut on a swelling
of violins, or on the ghost of sound that follows the cellos out, the last breath,
as if he could compress it inside himself, down into something he can keep.
He hands it to me like a ring that doesn’t fit on my finger, and I pretend
as if I understand but the meaning's unclear, and he says it’s okay, listen again,
listen again,
listen again,
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
When he hears orchestra he wraps his body around it entirely,
As if the crescendos and decrescendos spread out in a vast horizon
around which he can loose and find himself in cycles like the moon.
As if the vibrato could resonate at a frequency that would dislodge
him from this life, from this crippled city, from this traffic on I-81.
As if, like an oyster nursing a sand grain, he could snap shut on a swelling
of violins, or on the ghost of sound that follows the cellos out, the last breath,
as if he could compress it inside himself, down into something he can keep.
He hands it to me like a ring that doesn’t fit on my finger, and I pretend
as if I understand but the meaning's unclear, and he says it’s okay, listen again,
listen again,
listen again,
This is an attempt at a sort of variation on a tradition Ghazal, it's definitely a work in progress.
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