the music man
september 8/06


he takes a six-string to the shoreline.


i raise my eyes from the pages
and the words i've been
marathoning through
since the a.m.


notes for a lake;
rocks and sand
take up the
sound
which


then skips along the surface
of the water,
[one, two, three]
returns


to
land.


i later search with my hands in the
dark. combing grasses,    listening
for the spark of a       melody, the
cascade of      his waterfall chords
                                               .


asleep on my stomach at the edge of
the dock, bare arms cold       against
night air that             speaks autumn
,i hear his                music in echoes
                                                  .


i hear his music


in the hush of water against decaying wood.
in the gaps between on and off stars.
in the rush of wind through trees.
in the map to dreams in jars.


an idea--
place


the melody in a jar,
the glass thick
and scarred
with
soft
revolutions
from the curve
of his ear when he


bowed his head,
hunched his spine
over six strings, glued
music to wings and set it
free into the lake;


i search
i find
i take


the melody into a jar
stare for hours at the
bizarre, defeatist
patterns it completes
until i take my bare
feet and arms back
to the shoreline,
to the lake;


i search
i find
i wake


the dizzied song from
its coma and release
the notes back into
the lake.


and in the morning


he takes a six-string to the shoreline.


i raise my eyes from the dock
and the planks i've been
staring through
since the p.m.


notes for a lake;
rocks and sand
take up the
sound
which


then skips along the surface
of the water,
[one, two, three]
returning


to


the music man.