Listening to music

in #poetrylast year

We will not be the same again;

your hand is frozen into mine

& we can almost hear the starlight tinkle

& the moonbeam thump, frost falling off

its shaved eyebrows. The hall

shakes itself from a thousand years

of dreaming as he waves his wand,

raises the timbre, hears the music

crackling in its manuscript;

the conductor; he holds his breath

for too long. Crescendo after crescendo,

a dove shimmering to the rafters,

shoes gleaming like coins beneath

footlights, feet jiggling like buckles,

music sheets clapping the cymbals;

we hear the music play.



Image gotten from twitter.