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The harpsichord

releases sounds

of crystal line,

rapid decay.


They are like love

that fast surrounds

the astonished sense,

then falls away,


Unless the hands

that gave them voice

renew them in

another range,


So that the act

of willful choice

makes constancy

while moments change.


Thus when I loved you


that might have been

the end of it,


But you gave answer

to my play

and made sure I

would not forget.


Measure for measure,

love for love,

this instant's born

where that one dies.


We are bound to

the learning of

the unknown song

we improvise.


Jan Schreiber



From Wily Apparitions,
Cummington Press, 1992.
Reprinted by permission of
the author.

[table artist?]

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