Sonnet

I am in need of music that would flow, over my fretful, feeling finger-tips, over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, with melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.

Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, of some song sung to rest the tired dead, A song to fall like water on my head.  And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody: A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool heart, that sinks through fading colors deep to the subaqueous stillness of the sea, and floats forever in a moon-green pool, held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

–elizabeth bishop

Neptune approaches Pisces.  Ommmmmmmmmm.

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