Monday, March 13, 2023


        (for Hammerhands.)

So you no longer want to 
play music anyhow—

for what music 
could coax renewed 
substance from shadow,

or transcribe absent echos  
to original score,

or soundtrack 
winter's deaf, blank 
finality of snow? 

But somewhere deep
in the twitching 
of muscles;

in the shadows 
where capillaries drum 
along bones;

in the labyrinthine swirls (as 
a seashell 
by the ocean) 

of the exquisite folds 
of the inner 
ear, you notice:

that as long as 
you're able, by 
definition, to persist,

you can never 
bear witness to such 
suitable silence—

through each triumph 
and each stillness, 

in greatest 
gratitude and grief, 

your delirious, 
lunatic heart 
will keep repeating 

the only note 
it knows.