little piece of
silence
astray in the circumstantial
music of a crowd
part myth, part
massacre
have you put away
your toy internment
turned to the first
movement
where the house
was empty
& the dead hair
of the harpist spread on the lawn
its arrayed core
drawing a grace note
from the muttering
of those exhausted by wild dance
showing an oar for
a lyre
a turtle shell a
tear
cleaving a bird
call on the kettle drum
to unsettle a dust
of harmonics
expelling an itinerant
elsewhere
an epistolary scratching-post
a winged thing for
the gypsy's chime
the timbrel's return
to nowhere