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From Where I Sit: Music and Movement

A small flock of unidentified birds

flies into the skeleton trees

and disappears.

 

What magic is this?

 

Smoke from the boiler-house chimney,

at the mercy of the fickle wind,

blows this way and that, confused

unstopping, white, following the music

of Mozart's violins: moving, then still

- a crescendo starts to build -

- falls away to keen -

- a lull -

 

...

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