Our music is a late Beethoven string quartet.
Although I can’t see you,I know
You are listening; the arcitecture of my heart
Is structured round this form
alone.I sit here dreaming,hearing the bows
as they most tenderly cause vibrations
sending the song of love through the air;
as also do the strong yet gentle bells ringing
on the collars of goats on a far away mountain.
I know it’s your music; I heard it
when I first looked into your Pyrenean eyes
and knew who you might be.
A pebble is tossed languidly into a lake
yet ripples spread out across the world.
Such deliverances as we find will only
link us further,as we dance,the elegant dance
of the knowingly brave
who never give in,
but will always keep in step with the world
as it turns around and whirls past flashing silver stars
until its time has come.
Yet the music we create remains for ever
floating through the air,
like perfume of these late roses
as I walk down the garden
into the intolerable green newness of this tangled wood,
which startles me with its violent wistfulness.
Oh,come now…I hear your footstep on the road.
It’s the wind sighing eloquently,
knowing you have gone away
into the dark and the deep.where new life is formed
and I wait for you,fierce yet kind, with tender love.
I offer my heart to the world
and this music takes me.