Lost Music

 

It’s that dark dance I hear now:

raucous clangs wake the past,

throw my young self into view.

 

The constant thud makes today’s song different

another verse for the year, but damning.

There’s no Samba stealing my feet,

just a broken ballad dragging the day.

 

I hear one voice crying

and know the choir has dispersed:

lively words seized by rests and minims.

 

Each beat won’t clap in time

or play a shriek of excitement.

It’s a low, sluggish dance

edging under the ground.

 

Gather these sounds

and feel them splinter.