Meredith Anderson

an orchestra of sound and verb
          clashes tendons bones lungs toes
into existence
rhythm of the word—my
heartbeat—a     rubato tempo

this day—s t r e t c h e d like
conductor’s arms poised
wind chimes beat slowly commanded
          by a largo summerwind

even goldfinches pause
          at the feeder forgetting
then like eighth notes fly to
     ledger lines on sky-colored page

my springer spaniel
routine romping abandoned
          takes a ritard
a curved fermata at my
forte-painted toes

hair curling in brave melismas
warmed by summer sun I
                    yawn and
like a whole-rest mute blockish

          contemplate the
loss of energy words and
knowledge of the   next measure

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