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When music is far enough away
the eyelid does
not often move
and objects are still as
lavender
without breath or distant
rejoinder.
The cloud is then so subtly
dragged
away by the silver flying machine
that
the thought of it alone echoes
unbelievably; the
sound of the motor falls
like a coin toward the
ocean's floor
and the eye does not flicker
as
it does when in the loud sun a coin
rises and nicks
the near air. Now,
slowly, the heart breathes to
music
while the coins lie in wet yellow sand.
Frank O'Hara
Read poems
about / on: music,
ocean,
silver,
alone,
sun,
heart,
poem,
rose
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Frank O'Hara
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Frank O'Hara
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