Ritornelle

again, returning to muteness

as if the ground sucked this season’s frozen air

and held it tight, blurring the way

with weathered grey and gravel

 

again, listening for the words

behind music’s sonnet, shaped

like the curve of an hourglass

dropping grain after grain

 

of note, as bird dropped too

out of sight, songless in the dark

afternoon, an unnatural hush

filled with register

 

Copyrighted by the author

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