During a Franz Wright Reading
Normally the bagpipes are played
On green hills of Scottish homeland
For one but the birds to comprehend
Musical, instrumental, breath-held worthy
Genius.
But not today.
Today the crazy Saturday bagpiper has returned
To his worn patch of nature
In the midst of an overcrowded, overworked,
Tiny university.
In trying to hear I could not comprehend
In asking to hear, words would not be spoken
What is it about the unreadable
That enhances our quenches?
What is in forbidden places
That pushes us inside?
The bagpiper continues to play,
Shallow tunes, tunes to hear,
To tune your ear into
If that’s enough for the spiritual.
Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007
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