Night Music

More often, recently,
You’ve noticed nocturnal
Sounds clinging to music,

And find yourself saying,
Such and such a track sounds
Like music from small hours—

Inherently late-night
Music. You could conjure
With a sound like that, if

The world felt young enough
And your thoughts old enough
To switch places at night,

So that you held magic,
And the world did as bid.

Growth

The soil is damp enough,
A seed might have a chance.
Of getting through the night,

And from there to other
Opportunities Earth
Might provide, might provide.

Meanwhile, see another seed
Sitting on the sill’s edge,
Balanced to fall over.

The world’s been full of blooms
For so long now, it’s tough
To picture it without

A buzzy beard growth
Around the chin all ways,
And in all directions.

Planet Canon

After all this half a century,

Pachebel’s Canon popped up again,

And this time you were ready for it,

Not like when it slayed you at thirteen,

When you sat in a dusty classroom

Of a church school, watching a hand-spliced

Slide show made for a senior project

To lure adolescents to your school

And were wowed by phony sepia

And mawkish instrumentals. There’s still

That lullaby feeling to the piece,

Dreaminess that can lull like healing,

But no longer the invitation

To some kind of another planet

Of more orderly arranged music.

Now you’re simply delighted to know

That such planets can be imagined

And that you can still respond to them.