The Last Sunset on the Tuning Forks
i
Up through the terrible blue
of the sky
Where the falcon climbs
the wind
Down through the funnels
of the dark and
Into the canyon’s arms –
Hushed as the falling notes
of a song –
is the silence of the dead;
The silence stands
about the walls
And leans on its staff
to rest.
ii
The fragments of the tuning forks still stand
But hushed in the structures of the song
the dear dead sang.
What orchestrations were intended
were lost.
Within the trembling strings of the bridge’s span
we cannot know the pain.
Glory is not measured by the weight of the years
but by the unheard music in the soul –
In David’s eyes and in these ruined shafts of gold.
Hushed is the structure of the canyon’s winds
where the falcon flies down the shafts of silver
out into the blue and careless sky.