Late afternoon. 

I never knew a whisper, soft and sweet, could sing 

In tranquil lapse. The starshine shimmery and waltzing into 

Breath. When languid, gold-lined eyes  

Look 

Into the sea. 

 

That blue October evening when the spring melts into 

Summery wind and 

Scarves are not yet abandoned to the breeze 

 

By the bridge a piano hums. 

Water on wood, 

Velvet on air -  

 

His fingers dream their song into the lap-lapping of a slur; with a  

Tilting 

Lull of the wind and the waves 

A phrase has 

Ended. 

 

Grey coat swings, shadows play 

Afternoon melds sound into Space. 

 

. . . 

 

Dolce,  

Calm, 

A passing for each single foggy 

Breath 

 

And fading; still light dying, 

Marigold filtered into a final musky black 

Between the planks, the wood is dreaming and the 

city  

Gleams.

 

In Berlin, beside a timber deck where water ebbs and drifts in- 

-terminably into the dusk 

There hangs a warm thrum-thrum in the air . . . 

That Brandeis-blue gold evening pedals out a late October lilt 

And the sun falls, and the bridge beside the wood murmurs; 

 

Andante, spianato.