The Innisfree Poetry Journal

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)



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



from one hollow

into another


pouring from river

mouths in glassy



sheeting down sheer


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