Wherever I turn I find distress,
the signs of weird anxiety.
The trembling chords of veiled desire
are what define reality.
The warbling calls of mating birds
outside my bedroom’s window
confirm creation’s sheer conceit
to multiply its bounty.
Is this the music of the spheres?
the sweet vibration of man’s fears?
Well, Bach himself would be surprised
by this unwarranted conclusion!
Copyright 2020 Dennis M. Cortes