the soothing comfort of tragic routine,
there is Music.
A magical testimony to reality,
aloof and a capella.
Allegro, piano, staccato—
Happy, drunk, smiling,
there is Music;
he is swinging me around, a Round,
singing secretly in my ear.
We d r i f t away
in a perfect caprice,
two lines in parallel motion;
heard, yet assured
of exclusion from the score.
If you sift through memory, you will recall
Music. You fell into his arms one evening.
We shared a kiss and stopped
in one of Time’s infinitesimal interludes,
between one tempo and another,
Life seems to not exist beyond
the silence of our conversation.
Two lovers dancing amidst notes and words,
black and white and immobile, casting a shadow
on the sundial of our bliss.
Lost, confused, scared,
eyes squeezed to shut out the world.
Time cannot cease, but I believe
Love is a sweeter demise than happiness.
Musician in the Rain – Robert Doisneau, 1957
Le Violin d’Ingres – Man Ray, 1924