I hear Schubert,
Exhilarating impromptus, trios,
Piano, violin, cello,
In allegro, presto, scherzo,
When spinning in the vortex,
In whirring meadow grass,
Mesmerized by white cumulus,
Surprisingly spry leviathans
Silently rushing overhead.
I hear Schubert,
Not to concoct more drama
Than is requisite for the event;
I’m fascinated how all
Human pettiness, prattling blather,
Evaporates in the observation.
I’m fascinated with his reverie:
Schubert’s tempo unveils the pulse,
Pulse of atmosphere and sea,
Measured loping of deer,
A heron’s stalking of minnows,
Melody of buzzing and crawling
Things overtaking the night,
Rhythmic conversations over coffee,
Cups ringing in cafes,
Brisk weathering of hills,
Pulse of wind through leaves,
My eyes shut, ears fixed to a chorus,
Imperceptible pulse of frost
Turning what’s lush to crimson –
I hear Schubert.
