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Rendezvous With A Harp
It was too big to take on the subway so she came to it every day that winter in the room where it waited on one foot, sly seabird. She sat down and opened her hands, parted the wings one by one till it flew ahead of her fingers singing the lame foot skidding on gold. The sun turned its back on the glass and paled as she sat obstinate green-eyed her foot on its foot pumping. The fire died. Snow hissing at the window. Above her head a baroque hailstorm failed in 4/4 time. She sang, unable to hold the bright hinge to her heart. Lame savior she sang. It bowed as she left and sat, chastened by scales, wondering.