That it begins.
And like a wave which appears
only to lose itself

in dispersal, rising whole again
yet incomplete in all but
form, it returns.

Music. The true magic.

Each day the sun passes over the river,
bringing warmth to it. Such

devotion inspires movement: a cello in the
darkness, the passage of sparrows. Sighs.

The currents are of our own
making. If we listen do we also

hear? These bodies. These silent voices.

* * *

“Requiem” was written in the 80s, in response to a piece of music. It made its first appearance here in February 2015.


35 thoughts on “Requiem

  1. “If we listen do we also hear?” Hmm…

    I was just reading in Scientific American (the quintessential purveyor of “physics for poets” (:) about quantum entanglement and the uncertainty principle. Somehow, the theory seems to apply to your question (of course, if I actually understood how, I would be a physicist rather than a poet — though, if I were a physicist I would surely find this analogy tiresome/irrelevant… which is a decided short-coming of physicists, when it comes right down to it… Haha!). But seriously, what an amazing question! Both because of and despite their respective definitions’ entanglement, in that neither can exist without the another, listening also necessarily precludes some vital properties of hearing, and vice versa.

    In the face of Uncertainty (as nothing *is*, so much as it *isn’t*), we become the movements, the songs, the very circumstance of fundamental incompleteness that impels us to respond, saying “Je ne sais pas (pour)quoi…”

    Only in our unending search for the lost heart might we navigate the trace of its repose.

    Liked by 2 people

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