Everything imitates this act: arpeggios
the flapping of wings, drum beats, and especially
horses’ hooves hardening in a canter.
I have not said: swimming, the cupping and pull
of handholds on water
or the beating of batter in deep bowls
the fondling, the nipping of pipestems
the circular cooling of martinis stirred over ice
or the ritual rain on the eaves and from far away
the windblown message of a train beginning
the trestle, warning, warning:
everything sharpens, then bursts.
The curtain comes down to a thunderous wave of applause.
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