FOR ONE OR FEWER GUITARS

The slow pavanna provides
Music enough to filigree the silence;
The more austere angels begin to dance
Long ago they stopped wondering
About the terms on which they exist
Or if they exist at all. Now if ever
They will answer if you will ask.

EVERYWHERE

In September my mother's death
Seems everywhere, peering from boxes
Hanging in closets, marking the place
Where I stopped reading a book.
How irksome to find her death
Sitting at the breakfast table
Listening to music on the radio!
How delightful to remember her!

WHEN THE GODS DEPARTED ALEXANDRIA

When the gods departed Alexandria
Music played. In Bread Street, a flute-girl
Held onto six notes; a rhythm was preserved
In the dreams of an old priest whose wife
Remembered a shadow of silence between the notes.
Call the flute-girl's name -- song will company your days;
Dream of the priest  - you will rise up
The servant of grace. What the priest's wife brings
Are not for words of mine to say.

DUST, LIGHT, MUSIC

Through the window a shaft of light;

The dust dances; music plays

And only I to watch the dust

And only I to hear the music.

What year was this? Long gone;

If the dust next day had chanced

Or willed to join with other things

And so be born a man that man

Would be finding now his first gray hairs

Should I recognize him as he passes

Curling himself against the cold

I would think “I have not forgotten;

You were dust then but you danced

In a slant of light.”