Polyphony winds like meshed wires
the melodies are woven with white keys
two roads dance, curve, bind
each other with taut notes.
We watch each other like soft liars
deceiving with eyes, hands, each sees
no more than they can say and find
within themselves; we all see motes
upon each other’s eyes that match our own
hear double-tuned Stravinsky in our ears
see mirror-images of our own thought
spend out our images that we have bought.
Old sureties are past; now no one’s known
tight weaving’s gone; the listener hears
only their own soul’s tune, long sought
once found, imprinted on each image caught.