Evening Descends
Your high flutey rasp
nowhere
but everywhere, touching
off
a methodical elimination
of plausible explanations,
seemed integral at first
to the
plot of the police procedural
unfolding on the screen
at least until an abrupt
change of scenery demanded
a certain degree of fidelity
to continuity leaving only
the sudden
flare of the infernal purring
motor
idling eternally in my
head
as the likely source of
the
rhythmic bowing,
a minute punch-drunk
cellist madly torturing
the scales until you gave yourself
away; black carapace,
bullet
hole through the blue rug,
lone note in a John Cage
piece
captured and released into
the gathering darkness
of the backyard, the
emptied
husks of my cupped hands
extended in sustained
applause.
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