Clarinet Redux Poem by Bernard Henrie

Rump of wind almost played out.
The curtains in and later out.

Half-drunk bees lean into phlox
and ivy beds. Birds somewhere,
but not far off.

A clarinet dropped carelessly
by the white trellis. Hair brush
and apple, a still life on the desk.

Room light becomes anemic,
ceases to move.

Scattered music sheets, metronome.
Uncapped fountain pen, letter knife,
monotonous ticking clock.

The afternoon slowly running out.

Perched in the corner of the room,
knees up and braced against the wall,
reading a letter for the third time.

You think:
she could spring at any time
and tear the beating heart from
the small cave of your chest