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Paganini
You pizzicato tease!
Grandmothers called you diavalo-
The devil is the other face of God.
Your bow of horse-hair charmed the moon,
The veiled and blushing moon.
Yes, you loved the moon as only poets love her-
Did she not dance for you on the ethereal blue waters ata
carnival in Venice?
Your fiddle of tunes sleeps in a museum.
Dust lies on your bow.
In the cool sarcophagus of the earth your heart is a
bundle of dust.
Yet, in many a garden of happy children is a clapping
of petal hands
At your somersaults, spirals and confetti.