A Little Poem about Something Small, Maybe Even Invisible

 

A good musician knows how to discern

little by little—nothing from nothing—

that is to say much—from the shades

and the slightest colors of the notes,

 

and just as much even from a silent

pause and if it cleaves the sound

perfectly and right—for there are

whole other worlds passing unknown

 

and unseen—falling as good as dead

on those deaf ears and blind eyes

that didn’t practice or didn’t truly live.

 

And likewise, though fewer still, there are,

however, also musicians, musicians of souls.

But are they heard when they choose to sing?