The violinist throws the music over her shoulder.
What keeps these musicians attached to their instruments?
Why do they with windy precision obey?
Is it because there is no Beethoven today?
Is this why the children hurry down the hill?
Does the gravity of music affect us all?
I am stuck in the concert hall
with madame and aunt taking a rare vacation.
The painter holds onto the window sill;
what would Mendelssohn think of our nation?
We have what we desire: the appalling number of afternoons and evenings
when we didn’t do anything! Mozart wrote
every single authentic note.
These songs have floated away.
Is this why my life leans on instruments today?