WIRED

Wired in a silent
corridor of a sound proof loft
at the conservatory rooms
playing the viola
in an off day
practicing a fathomless sonata
by Bax
introduced to me by Tom Goff
here with an accompanying harpist
of a British composer
not well known to me
from all my lessons
of harmony and solfege classes,
now I'm writing on a misted day
here by the Charles River
and this spent a dawn hiding out
along the sea's kayaks
and white sail boats in a regatta
out for a race to the finish
as a liasion of love reveries
by Pierre Reverdy
pierce me in my soul
the sun backs me up
by the Boston Esplanade
in the overcast August dawn
by the promenade
kick starts my memory
at a musical euphoria
of finding a new discovery
that haunts my absence
with metaphoric shadows
as my harpist notices a bird
by the rattling window
when our musical notes are rising
with the suspense of in coming tide
from the balcony's portico
returning to my loft's window
the sill still has pocket bread
for the red Cardinal who returns
with a laughing call all its own
from the ocean's corresponding wave
I am appreciating the shelter
of shadow and distance
from a myna bird and poet
devouring the staff of life
in a morning time of repast.