Desire Returns as First Chair
Clearly Brahms has a hand in this night;
She cannot sleep; there is music
Coming from the garden,
Someone without the sense or grace
To go to bed,
Perhaps the neighbors are up late,
The casements open.
She goes out, down the path, following the music;
Yes, it is Brahms, there is the deep intonation
Of the cello played
By a virtuoso,
The rich yet precise chords of a piano, the lyrical counterpoint
Of two instruments making love.
Then she sees that he has returned, Desire
And is waiting by the cherry tree.
Bathed in moonlight. .
He bends her toward him, takes his first
Kiss, kissing away her breath,
Taking from her, her flesh
Artfully recasting her fine bones,
Changing her to burnished wood
Curved, and hollow.
He draws his bow
Over her taut strings:
He touches her frets, his fingers hovering;
Of her emptiness, he makes a sonata;
Of her cry a vibrato;
Of her being
What the moon might sing of failed love–.
Night of barcarolles and shooting stars
Of surrender, quickened, released,
Variations on incarnate longing
Of an unsettled score.
copyright Jenne’ R. Andrews 2010