The voice of an owl perforates night air.
I hear it, feel it while Miles Davis plays
indoors, and I think of two sounds,
two dimensions – out there, in here.
I am between
what I remember
what I have forgotten.
Death hovers in night air: sulking
alive, breathing, penetrating –
the artist is always cringing under
the weight of death – a song
that everyone knows, tunes
we keep hoping to forget.
There is music we often fail to discern.
There must be, there must be.
Ken Hada has published six collections of poetry including his two latest: Persimmon Sunday (VAC, 2015) and Margaritas & Redfish (Lamar UP, 2013). He has received national awards for poetry from the Western Writers of America and the National Western Heritage Museum. Reviews and information available at www.kenhada.org.