How does a symphony come together?
A pluck of the bass, a pull of the violin
bow, a whirl of fingers on the French horn,
the conductor mad with his own clock,
the tympanis guttural and ancient,
all motion alone and at a merge

A city? That first step out into day
still amorphous, the low wave resonance
of steps over concrete, then the bread trucks
growling in the gloaming, the initial
throw of light over the staggered horizon
and long shadows groping after their
ancestors west, the birds converse
in their indecipherable little rhymes,
(what beauties do they see which we miss?)
the traffic lights are rendezvoused
again with their dancing partners,
and the pandiculating streets slowly
acquiesce their bodies to our weight

A poem? Simply me, playing
with memory and begging it to bend