by David Radavich
What is the sound
of an eclipse
or a moon�s shadow?
That is the life
we want.
Not without dissonance
but chords echoing
silk, weaving
the overhead sky
night or day.
A small tune maybe
but momentous.
Big as galaxies.
A flower that
foresees its death.
Tomorrow will be
a different clef:
quavers and justice
that ring light.