There is no word can hold a chord no analogy fits ear
forte, into eye
a stanza a piano inside it would stifle, would rife with
hands fitting felt to phoneme, syllables to hammers, signs
hinges, singing.
Seized by strings, a stanza whose whole interior rings
syntax tightened to tune
to show a word vibrate
sympathetic with another—
Structure is image as prayer is to kneeling the composer reasons :
two hands opens the keyboard to weird the signature
raise the voice music retreats
into form's firmament
divinity free to live without—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem