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Crawls, drips
Over an arid land,
(Yet deep enough to drown)—
O violin that slips
From the relinquishing hand,
Brown brightness hid—
Let fall the incurious lid.
***
Let me find words
With which to sing of silence,
Better than all this blurred half-sound
Of tattered music trailing on the ground,
(That was a banner in the wind),
Words
And their pacing pride
For the frustrated heart,
That stoic singer in the side,
Unviolined!
Over an arid land,
(Yet deep enough to drown)—
O violin that slips
From the relinquishing hand,
Brown brightness hid—
Let fall the incurious lid.
***
Let me find words
With which to sing of silence,
Better than all this blurred half-sound
Of tattered music trailing on the ground,
(That was a banner in the wind),
Words
And their pacing pride
For the frustrated heart,
That stoic singer in the side,
Unviolined!
Be not afraid,
My songs, my full-throats,
Be not stampeded into muffled herds,
Mouthing and terrified—
O fierce white music that I made,
Proud notes,
Chords, choirs of taut tuned strings,
And slender strength
Of bow that was a bough;
Tread this last length
My songs, my full-throats,
Be not stampeded into muffled herds,
Mouthing and terrified—
O fierce white music that I made,
Proud notes,
Chords, choirs of taut tuned strings,
And slender strength
Of bow that was a bough;
Tread this last length
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