At a brief moment of an un-birthday
the Ninth String got the upper hand
and by a miracle we all gathered together,
both the wicked and the kind-hearted
among us.

Play Mozart for me! Play Mozart!

This ordinary, routine season is my beloved -
(in the next one we will be inseparable).
The firmament belches forth
an unexpected hailstorm,
a malady spurred by delayed action,
a blanket,
a parting of the ways,
and the cooling fan –
the preferred version
of an alleged fiasco.

Play Mozart for me! Play Mozart!

Within the floor of the church,
I can hear the whisper of eyes
that can talk:
the relics
of unloved ancestors
exude fumes which creep
through the gravestones.
Probably the Ninth Sting
is but a letter of attorney
(if ‘far away’ exists somewhere).
Salieri’s violin sighs like
stretching paper.
Enraptured, a savage lynx
untwines the loose ball of the hank
so playfully,
so ecstatically!
Everything has been given by us.

Today, by a miracle
we are all gathered together
in the temple:
both the wicked and the kind-hearted.
A man who has not been invited shouts,

“Play Mozart for me! Play Mozart!”