Serendipity slips artfully aside
as I scour these eloquent tones
of history for a combination
worthy of a lifetime. Somehow
all of these songs and records
seem hollow and uncooperative,
an unimpressed breeze or a promise
of rain. What use is a spring flower
on winter’s threads, or an orchestra
with no audience? These forests
and gardens all tower quietly still
while the tempest churning offshore
feints and falters into contemplation.
Ah, if only you had a voice to consider.