the music of what happens
the music of what happens,
is now and then too loud, like boots
stomping on glass shards, or maybe
too quiet, the gulf before grief
takes root.
Would you prefer to never hear
the music again? But that’s life,
this countervoiced cacophony.
Today, lunch with an old friend
two-ways-old: our meeting
fifty-one years ago, and he’s
approaching ninety-four
The music of what happens
waters his eyes no choice
it arises of itself
but the grace, his allowing
grace upon grace, my receiving
Beautiful!
You had me with the title, and then that first stanza... fortissimo! And then, at the end, it softens to a sweet pianissimo with "The music of what happens waters his eyes." Nicely done, Amrita!