Listening for Another Bach 

Rain lies across the dunes

In slow waves, periods set

By reach of eye rather than

Force of nature; the day too

Marches in some self-determined

Rhythm, captive to your absence

And the echoes of a life

As yet unscored by any

Melodist audible in

The fields of our winter dance.

- David W. Mitchell

to David   /   to Moongate