". . .WHILE THE MUSIC LASTS. . ."

"Music heard so deeply
That is not heard at all, but you are
The music While the music lasts."

T. S. Eliot: The Dry Salvages - V


*



The door appears
before her

as if hey presto
out of thin air.

I have to sing it to her for her
to know it is there....is a door.

"Open the door Suzie!"

The Dylan and her name
activates its fact and function.

She is always amazed that
the world waits outside.

" A little bit of magic!"
she always coos.

"It's like the sky...the bird and trees
have been made...just for me!"

And each time she
carelessly loses the world

it is made anew
shiny as the first Creation.

She basks in the sheer
pleasure of me

brushing brushing
her hair her hair.

But seeing how much
comes off on the brush

she panics:
"I'm losing me!"

As if she were shedding
her self.

"You're losing it...you're losing it!"
I sing with great gusto.

She laughs and joyfully
joins in

with the corruption of
Blake.

Out on the street she
starts to take off her clothes

thinking she is
at home.

"Oh oh Suzie we
don't do that  'round here!"

But now it's time for
biscuits and tea.

She knows it because
I whistle some capriccio

of Zelenka's
whatever comes to mind.

She admits that I music her
back into being but

"...you can't whistle for toffee
or sing for nuts and your voice

is a bit too harsh and Irish!"

I do my best to
sing her through

the day's comings and goings
music taking her by the hand

leading her back
into a world

she no longer lives in
most of the time.

"Open the door Suzie!
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more."