but
not music, horns
and
strings unplayed,
unwound,
then replayed
in
some ethereal sphere,
barely
heard the way
music
is head, the ways
voices
and choirs
are
heard, played and sung
for
the heavens,
the
heavens themselves
simultaneously
conducting
and
absorbing into the composition,
creation
transforming the formless
and
deep, and we heard the music
through
the millennia as it transcended
time,
as it transformed time, as time
became
superfluous, past, present and
future
melding into glory.
Painting: A Choir of Angels by Simon
Marmion (1459), National Gallery of Art, London.
3 comments:
yes, this.
I'm quiet, listening
beyond
what is
today
and yet...
not
beyond
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