Music is a stream
whose fingers, knuckling over
boulders,
send droplets trickling into
crevices, tinkling;
gurgles bass notes in hollows
beneath the rocks,
spills soprano trills
that burst into the white noise
of spray.
Music is the wind
that whistles high notes in the
leaves
low in a bowl of mountain-side;
that whistles sad through a stone
wall;
laughs in a stand of nettles.
Music is all that stirs on the
earth;
blackbird standing on the dawn,
trout etching circles at noon,
the raucous crows bickering with
evening,
a fox tearing a hole in the
night-time.
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