This poem was inspired by Gustave Kahn's poem "The Dying Lover."
The child pursues melodies I’ll never understand, the notes wallowing through my fingertips like grains of sand. But in the distance a flute laughs, softly, a zither weeping its baleful notes— both distant, blunt, and foreign. I fell here once, at the border of sound and silence, hit by a blade I didn’t see coming. Whose shadow loomed, blade in hand? The answer is buried deep in the night, stretching long and wide, refusing to end, refusing to begin.
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