Monday, 24 March 2014

Bingo and I Listen to Alex Writing a Fugue.

The cat and I upon the sofa,
Lying where the sunlight warms us,
Underneath the oil lamp pendant,
Where the crystal rainbows glisten,
Stretching out our limbs above us,
Mine on cushions, elevated,
His on mine, in faded denim,
Purring with his claws retracted,
Black and white and blue and beige,
Keeping still and trying to listen,
To a fugal composition,
Emerging quietly from the piano,
Noted down upon a page
Of manuscript quite artificial,
Existing on a laptop screen,
And sometimes playing back
Notation, accurate,
Though sounding less serene
Than when each phrase was first created
By the mind of a musician
In control of two hands.

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