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I'm listening to Bach, The cello concertos. There is a melancholy In those Germanic staves, Feeding in crescendos, Diminuendos, soul talk. I used to be absent from that. Unaware of time or any Encumbrance I feel my body sway, Eyes fixed shut, Thought discarded. Beauty such as this Usurps the ordinary; It achieves Divinity. I have no idea Who's playing. Maybe St Martin's In The Field Or the LSO, doesn't matter. I could be like this forever, A heaven of sound That has purpose beyond sound Carrying with it religion, Touching from a distance. Maybe this and that God Made me who I am. The LCD display Ticks down its minutes. There will be a silence then That disturbs, Its edifices apparent, Far too bold. There's nothing much left. As I turn to hit the loop button The boys get back from school. Taken back to conversation, The need for comfort arising, I turn off my lunacy. Maybe they matter most after all. Tomorrow, school resumed, isolation Will happen. Devoid of particular Thought, without reason, I'll turn, flick the button And vanish. No one need know. John Cornwall |
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