Strain Again
Music can be made alone
One can accompany oneself
On wood, on ivory, on bone,
Like the antique clock on the mantelshelf.
With just a bar, a set of lines,
A sea becomes a cresting wave
The ripples fight a tug-of-war —
The tides are nothing if not brave.
So come in on the downbeat, then:
Come on, jump in, the water’s fine.
The point of playing is the end;
The point of dinner is the wine.


Even on mud or grasses,

La Plage Sud

All Change

The Nocturnes

Newton’s Cradle

Another Time

How We Know Each Other

Houdini’s Wife

Trying To Finish A Sonnet At Le Pain Quotidien

Crossing the Pont du Lac Ha! Ha!

(Running) After Catullus (With a Knife)

So What’s My Super-Objective

Remember Once, When It Was Raining,

The Word Is “Yet”

A Subway Sketch

Wait Up! I’m Hamlet, Too!

It’s Always Something

The Buddha in My Window Box Faces Away

Arranged

Don’t Go
