III. The Village

There are with equal reason many pianos still left

In the fields of the village

Where you insist that we continue

To live, for a like reason many pianos

Though alone a few have remained faithful

To the serious chords of the wind.

For example, the camel-colored Steinway

Beneath the ancient arbor of lavender wisteria

drooping bougainvillea has barely

A dozen lock openers left working, their thin felt

Hammers drawn out grown as soggy as dawn mist,

Soft as the pillowing haze

Still, you say, who cares?, as you revolve from me,

Stepping calmly onto the narrow stone terrace

Overlooking these perpetual fields

Just as each young woman in this

Village stands each morning, each one of them,

exactly at this instant of the day, satisfied by means of

The first ripple of light as it sketches

The body's languid harmony. If I am happy I know

I will live forever in this ancient, not to be found village

Of pianos & a late pagan petulance.

Copyright World verse Incorporated Mar/Apr 1998

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