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.