Dancing about Architecture

Some one once spoke to me with scorn

of writing about music; “It’s just like dancing

about architecture—ridiculous!” he said.

I didn’t understand. Is it ridiculous when I write

my paeans to love, these quivering Sanctus Bells

that ring out despite the steady drumbeat of dissent?

And anyway, I thought, surely the majesty of a cathedral

has stirred a sacred dance out of someone.

And if the hubris of a telecommunications tower

has not inspired a physical cacophony of some kind, somewhere,

then post-modernism is a bigger joke than anyone thought.

I will investigate,

but either way, I make this vow;

one day I will commission an expression

in the tangling language of long allusive limbs

a celebration of the vaulting structure of my love,

now just a vision of offering song

but which one day will give shelter

in the well-weathered house of eventually

built with stronger, more confident arms.

(I tell you this story in lieu of writing further on the dissonance

            and harmony my lover orchestrated in my tongue,

all the sweet chords that were struck,

through all the false notes that were sung.)