That One Note played over and over,
longing, mournful, angry, desperate–
once or twice joyous.
War could whisper through.
And career, family, art, music.
But fleeting and peripheral because
One Note Banging
SOUND SOUND SOUND.
Now little laughters, the sun rising, our skins softly aging.
The edges of things!
where before blurry, if not imagined.
for lifting that monotonous veil of Self
to reveal the symphony beyond.