In the studio

Ear
(Image by PHOTOGRAPHY Toporowski)   Details   DMCA

You played brilliantly while I read.

Your cello creaked and moaned and broke

Into sobs that ripped cloth

And sent out the staccato of an SOS

While I read the words from pages

I held bravely

Swearing by each word an oath

Of allegiance to the spirit of life

To prevail after this god-awful war

That it is like a train

Bearing women and children

And the old into the opacity of absolute occlusion

Leaving a man on the platform

Who is the incredible shrinking man

The way a bitter god might view us

When tired of receiving the same old prayers

Through the small end of a telescope

And when I was done

And your playing subsided

Speaking for myself

We were much less sure about anything

Than we were when we started

But what were we hoping for anyway?

And if there was such a thing as hope

What would that sound like?

After all, our ears are lonely flowers

Waiting for that bee that never comes.