And so we score and sing our lives
Not from scratch but the innuendo of the stave,
The stars, with little hints
Those dials suggest.
Or else, or else take brash breath and dispense
With treble, bass and moon entirely:
Notes scuttle out from surrendered places,
Sound wings in from unexpected spaces
Out of the yearning for sound.
If only to make verse shudder
As truth of laughter and proof
Of the constant, unyielding encore.