Wednesday, August 24, 2022


it must be alright 

to stop 
the irritable reaching, and just 
enjoy the night; 

to soak a while in Epsom 
and put balm 
on all your blisters, 

then tan 
for far too long
in front of the television. 

A few scented candles 
be appropriate, 

and a little soft music 
to drown out the sound 

of all the innovations 
you dimly know 
you should be making, 

even as you feel 
the internal untying 

of thousands 
of taught, soaking strands 
of gray rope.

You think: 
who am I to reach 

for more 
than I can hold? 
God knows—

even Bach, 
despite all his 
brilliant leaping, 

sooner or later 
would always 
fall back

on the same old
dozen notes.