In memory of Dimitri Mitropoulos
The harpist believes there is music
in the skeletons of fish
The French horn player believes
in enormous golden snails
The piano believes in nothing
and grins from ear to ear
Strings are scratching their bellies
openly, enjoying it
Flutes and oboes complain
in dialects of the same tongue
Drumsticks rattle a calfskin
from the sleep of another life
because the supernatural crow
on the podium flaps his wings
and death is no excuse
