The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Judy Kronenfeld

The little towns

contained enough to hold

in the eye

of one hand

towns overseen

by an abbey's rose window

filled with sky,

or the drowsing

ruins of a chateau

deeply stone

stone steeped

in the quiet

of centuries falling

and melting

like snow . . .

towns sealed

behind grey shutters

into the dilating afternoon

but for one spruce

stroller in black, who

stops, and our foreign car

speeding through

Music for One

(Andante, Piano Concerto #21 in C, Mozart)

enters

the room

in chords

as deep as eyes

the piano, coruscating

like fountain jets,

answers from inside

my chest which lifts

and lifts

and falls

and falls and lifts

my breaths are oars

sluiced in liquid pearl

Now, again,

the whole orchestra—

full wordlessness

overflowing

from one hollow

into another

pouring from river

mouths in glassy

cascades

sheeting down sheer

drops