Days of the Tel-Aviv Conservatory

To know a time purely
not through its costumes, not through its scholars, through its sounds.
To know music aware of its power
fleeing of eternity to be played and returning as it wishes
a few moments of breathing
accompanied by an arrogant trill, singing its freedom.
Then there were faces: a sleepy king and his nobles.
Then there were historians, and along with them
Zeitgeist
the crumbling objects of study
the wandering fragments
and one triple name, that used them to form his divine portrait.