Acoustics

The harpsichord
releases sounds
of crystal line,                              
rapid decay.                             

They are like love                       
that fast surrounds
the astonished sense,                              
then falls away,                           

Unless the hands                         
that gave them voice
renew them in                                      
another range,                                      

So that the act                                       
of willful choice
makes constancy                                 
while moments change.                         

Thus when I loved you                                              
yesterday,          
that might have been
the end of it,      

But you gave answer 
to my play          
and made sure I     
would not forget.   

Measure for measure,
love for love,      
this instant’s born 
where that one dies.
                 
We are bound to     
the learning of     
the unknown song    
we improvise.