JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

All that is needed is to inscribe

the key, motto, call it a theme,

look up, behold a map of suns, constellations

or downwards, watch armies of ants

march routes, carry endless shreds of

leaves and twigs to concert halls

with lattice work of painted ceilings

audience settling into velvet rows

men expectant, women eyeing each other’s

gowns and jewelry, orchestra filing in.

 

Look down again, your score alive

stars, ants, perfume, polished shoes

quill dancing itself across the ballroom

of your stave, motto replicating,

dividing, rejoicing in infinite variations

of sound, texture, labyrinth, your nib

a sorcerer’s apprentice, sweeping

arpeggios of tadpoles in glee.

 

All you needed was to inscribe

a key, a motto, look up, look down

behold, a symphony, a fugue

Night on a bare mountain, Swan lake

Brandenburg concerto.