You should know
                 That I don’t normally do this.
                             Words come easy
                                 and shape does not.
                              I know the purpose, though,
                 And have felt the effects,
     a flowing melody
                 a short prelude
                             A bowstring across a violin.
                 I’m sorry.
             Sorry that the river rushes
                 at the wrong times and,
     sorry that I haven’t warned you
                 of the waterfall.
                     Sorry that I write
                 in pulses and not lyrics,
             sorry that the sun sets too early
                 over somebody else's mountain.
     Sorry that I can’t start again -
                 the suspense of pause
                             has already leaped from my lips
                                         and the fluttering that is suspense
                     has melted into the river
                 and all that remains
      is the value of silence.