When my uncle in his trailer
Played Gerry Rafferty for me
like a sacred communion,
a sacred offering
And my cousin in his mountain home
played the Allman Brothers,
Like some kind of Norwegian
Forest dance, mystical and inscrutable.
I knew then, somehow,
even though I was young
and intimidated and unsure,
I knew then somehow
that music contained the secret of the universe.
Today, in the age of the quarantine,
when time crawls and no one’s hair is on fire,
when time crawls like lava on the sidewalk,
I watched Don Quixote, Op 35,
the Berlin Philharmonic.
I do not know how all of that works.
I just know I too fade and seep,
Crawl and dance, until I find myself
without beginning, without end.