Trying to make words music,
The poet failed, forgetting there was music.
The poet somehow believed obscurity
Was a melody.
The poet somehow perceived
That when words grieved, we grieved.
But the words could not.
Words get in the way.
It is only music, not the plot
Of words, or their plan,
Which can march as music into the very heart of music
As beautiful music can.
It wasn’t possible. Words
Can identify: Look! Birds!
But only music can be the crying
Of music. Only music is music flying.