Night Notes Poem by Doug Stewart

Mozart believed, as do players, that music is different at
Night, cool notes in cold air pick up and sometimes fire or
Lose just a vibration, just a fraction off of a chord, an
Edge of a string trips a difference, rings hollow or hard,
Brass, steel, harmonics of grass, water, and wooden
Chimes.

Forcing listeners to listen, closely, carefully, like the Master
Of a masters choir, like a Phoenix in joy and in fear, a sparrow.
And still it sounds, reflects, bounce, echoes like river babbles, soft,
Almost sleepy, but beckoning at the same time, a begging hush, bubble
Screaming silently like a mute mockingbird on a high wire in the
Brush.

And just before dawn, when the false light glows with a dull melancholy,
Regretting the loss of the night, fearing the coming of the bright, clean,
Daylight hours, when come the crashing chords, the afflicted bars that hide
Nothing, that require less a well-tuned ear, than simple attention, a simple ear,
Simple melodies in the proper cages of their bars and lines, perfect schemes, beats, and
Measures.