Concerto & Quintet

I.

Love must be like Chopin
played gently over the rain
that drizzles in the afternoon
beyond the soft
security of beauty, carefully
possessed, ubiquitous
in the heart, the warm room.

The tears of the weather
streaking the glass, when it's
all you can do to hear it
above the waterfall-like
cascade of the piano
filtering in the house, the
shell of the ear, eased and kept
safe in what is wondered on, and known.

The trees bearing up under
gray cloud cover, swaying
like drunken men in league
against the elements,
exterior to the mild music,
the peace and health
that permeates like the heat
of a flame behind a hearth's grate.


II.

Peace must be like Schumann's
sanity preserved by Time's
mercy, out of his madness,
the quintet's calm vocabulary
murmured, plush as the carpet
over which it whispering moves,
like a sated cat on a cushion
curling to sleep in a heart, hearing and holding,

protecting the momentary jewel
of every visible note, each crystal
bead of the chain that showers
soothingly as idle hours,
as the infant October cries
in the turning wood, and sighs
against the stalwart home
as futile as a second's hopeful silence.


1986 (probably imitating Delmore Schwartz)