Poem 1983 (2)

Listening

 

Seated alone
eyes open
I wait

Needle arcs across air
then a wash by harmony
compressing crafted fingers

Music seems to thicken
in viscous pink
towards my door

It dips and drives
passing light
through the body

Imagined ornamental trees
stir among
cool shadows

Melody bursts on weightless shores
like some faint echo
of a face.

 

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