“They will not come. They will not ask.”.

Too delicate
this tripping of the keys
This dance that needs no other task.
A ballet of notes
a single toe
touches the stage.
Slender,move to a distant place.

The watcher treads a heavier space
listens and moves
without a trace
sunshine? the shadows
heed him not
nor notice when he leaves.

The ever-circling
leaves his face, his word
the old master knew the pattern.
Do we find his way? or theirs?
or make our own?
You tell me
in ancient language
speak in tongues
Unknown?
Unknowable?

 
 
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Record 2 of 8

Illusion

Frances Arnett Sbrocchi

Pain reminds her
of the need for memory
It soon will be time to get these
things in order

She has known
for this past year
that words slip carelessly
outside the fence

Words, she thinks,
are becoming elusive
and the one that is missing
is the one she needs

Words sometimes get
mixed into each other
breakfast food and heart medication
having the same beginnings