I sing this body ad libitum
Except for every beat I skip,
Except for every bone I break,
Except for any tiny cell
That sings itself ad libitum
Until its singing chokes my own.
I sing, but know that every note
May be a part of this work's coda,
May just be fanfare for the silence
Of my body's decaying act.
A seashell holds each note I play
For you, for whom I lift my bow,
With every note, played ill or fair,
Trapped in amber and duly sent
To you and so, though curtains call,
I grieve, but dare not stop and bow
Because you should hear one more song
And so, alone, I carry on.
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