I.
the ear finely attuned
to the extravagant music
of yellow pears ripening
in the scrolled light
of orchards as if the world
were perfect
hears the cicada burst its shell
II.
the quiet man sits
touching his cheek
in a room delicately walled
with the sound of rain
trumpets on the phonograph
hold the globed gold light
belling in the mirror’s corridor
time out of time
without duration
measure moving to no distance
a dance of instant light
in the mirror’s silent hallway
counter-measure
to clock tick
the morning-red cockerel’s
burnished crowing
heard mute in the sun-tattered
darkness of gravestones
and loud
in the quick of his wrist
III. State Fair
the perfect green
and red and yellow gold
of this prized and pampered fruit
sheaves of millet
sheaves of wheat
arranged in perfect ripeness
beyond our touch
to music out the light
as if all possibilities of seed
became visible and orderly here
and ripeness final
but as the sign cautions
do not touch
perfection is the myth of effort
from here we endlessly return
IV.
hear also the resounding actual
music of wood if played alone
sounds the beloved flesh might make
isolate and without a soul
like the austere and strained-for
music of pure soul
music the unplayed strings contain
hear these imagining
imaged in the mind’s ear
it is more mingled and various music
heard in the human actual ear
a speech breaking categories
to confront its objects
here the most distant burble
of water becomes vocal
the blinding noon lick of the sun
a voice
rapt cicadas thrumming
the ear’s meat
beyond this light
and darkness are the same
V.
in starlight
slow as a ship
the whitened carcass founders
and goes down
earth like water
caving the ribs
bees in the hollow skull
make honey
as gold in the dark
as light
VI.
the picnic done with
we became aware
of the black bull at his mating
imaged in us the music
more gay than madrigals
that strummed his veins
parading
to his perfect lust
deep-bodied
slow
he stood a moment attentive
to the drumming of his blood
then mounted
brought the period
to its close
and descended
to the immediacy of darkness
and grass
unwintered and green
to his quieted flesh
as if only the hour
awaited him
to our ears the evening cicadas
whirred like violins
their dry atmospheric sound
VII. Two Definitive Movements
my child stood in the doorway
watching night approach the house
asking to be allowed outside
and admission granted to the dark
she chose the light instead
that
and the word gone
she learned to say
at the summer’s end
committed
she has touched knowing’s edge
and will own it
closely as her flesh
the morning-glory’s opening
the white tenuous muscle
flexing to light
as though no darkness had ever been
is not profounder music
VIII.
and my love has come to me
to ask my comfort
for the hurt I give her
—having no other
time and again
tor that trammel me
my heart
my hearing suffers
no more sorrowing music
IX.
the child born dead
goes free of light
bears all time with him
rounded to his grave