In the Mountains

Three musicians huddled in The early hours of the dawn. They had been up all night Drinking by the draught, Debating their common art. Each one explained the part He believed music should play; Each one explained why He felt the way he did, and Reasoned with authority in hand.

But argue as they did, without Fault, none of them brought Resolution to the matter. Sleep seemed the only answer But they lingered, not oblivious To the splintered sun rays Knifing the blind sky. The themes and variants fell To the floor of their essential Argument – no one wondered why.

They fumbled quietly In the half-light on their way To sleep. In the barn, a mare Stirred; the lake shimmered, far Below, through pockets of haze That had lingered late as Well; the dandelion slopes slowly Began to hum with their insect Life, and sleep came to be Dreamless, with significant tact.