His is a world of clean lines
the white sails snapped taut
the rudder cleaving the swelling sea.
He likes locks with keys, and surety
the world fitted, wheel to wheel
like a fine gold watch—
the perfect heart of which
allows for no waste, no loss.
Then music, like a girl
in a summer dress, comes in.
Takes his hand, lays it
on her heart, and
unafraid of loss, or time
breathes right through him.
Right through him.
