Untitled No-Song, a poem by Doug Fowler
.
Why sit?
And so much?
As if …
(to figure out)
What?
The recognition Pharoah sang through a saxophone?
Maybe the snowmelt wind touching blue-white phlox?
Or is it the oak branch shadows on asphalt shingles?
Formula: Watch every small reflection moving
in the polished yellow metal. Study the candle melting
on our table’s varnished wood-grain,
the smell of washroom sinks, loose scripture
thrown to the tile floor, recordings lined up on library
shelves left only to music theory, etymologies:
Eng: Varnish,
L: Vernix,
Gk: Berenice,
Queen Berenice II of Hellenistic Egypt
who cuts off her hair for Ptolemy’s stars.
Night.
Saxophone.
Cup your right ear toward each note
like Milarepa.
And sit.
