Sweet Polyphony

Perhaps born from two notes of music,The offspring of a bright, yellow Aand a melancholy E,She comes to me in a new song,Or appears suddenly in the arrangementOf a classic composition, where she’dnever resounded before.

Long after I’ve forgotten her faceAnd atoned for my digressions,I hear her in intervals and I’mStricken with a sharp chord of consonance.

Perhaps the mortal incestuous incantationOf Apollo and Terpsichore,She holds the key, haunting me in measures.Her contours entrance me, and withStaccato half-steps I always walk backTo her for reprise.

Two voices—Harmonically codependent,Yet rhythmically sovereign.

If I were deaf, maybe I could forget her