thirty-four

i sat in a concert hall
spotlight on music
i thought of the notes on the page
that are symbols of nothing,
symbols that cannot be translated into words or thoughts but simply
MUSIC
and i knew then that there were things that my words could not touch
unreachable distances
like “fading stars”
like “highest heights”
of minds and tongues and consciousness
i do not profess to know any of that.
i sat and listened and experienced the wandering of the words in my head
and i knew that they were not words
but confined to word form
why can’t i think in pictures
or in music?
my thoughts a long trill of a flute
the shrill shriek of a violin
the deep bellow of a bass
the walking simple clarinet
the call of a horn or
the cry of a cello
why can’t i list my anger in violent pictures of human emotion
describe my love in the purest of scenes
where eyelashes meet softest skin and all is white and fading
white and fading
nothingness


(from spring '05)