night music

The moon's my constant mistress, /And the lowly owl my marrow;
The flaming drake and the night crow make, /Me music to my
sorrow.—Anonymous

whether it be the drone
of the watching moon
or the ostinati
of the stars that swoon,
evening finds me in the concert hall
for the debut of night's curtain call.

whether it be the tone
of wild bamboo flutes
spreading their confetti
at the end of june,
from the ocean waves, the barcarole
whispers airs my spirit to console.

whether i sip alone
of the night owl's hoot
on the serengeti
or the sandy dune,
let me feast upon each aerophone
that, so vibrant now, so soon is gone.

whether my heart is blown
with the night monsoon,
resting by the jetty,
i shall hum in tune
my cadenzas of concordant dreams,
as the night their eloquence esteems.

© Copyright 2023 June 20
by Clyve A. Bowen♫