When wings are ready to take flight
The nest of one’s private pain
Is easily reached
You lick the lost joy
Right out of your own palm
Keeping death at bay through the sounds of a violin
The night shadows fly right out
Of the accords of Verdi’s Requiem
Wiping the audience’s brow
The notes pouring out
Jump throughout history
Sweating inside the conductor’s shoes
The sounds of life
Like bats thump
The walls of eternity
From a dry mouth a nut’s shell
Springs towards the river,
Verdi’s glass of wine
On the other bank of the river:
The last communion and shells on dry land:
Winking at the tired musicians.