​Beethoven in the Desert

India ink black
as lack of hearing spills

trim the quill,
dip it,
listen for the oasis of sound

you learn the word mirage
New World red at dawn,
the repeat at dusk

catch the notes in a pewter cup
before they fall to ground

strange raging sun pounds its drum
sears your skin red,
relentless

small mammals scurry into bolt holes
you envy their rodent ears
the way they hear the short song
of predator wings

in the desolate air you yearn
even for the squeak and squawk
of the orchestra tuning

a small movement in the Mojave:
saguaro, Joshua tree, ocotillo
​
spiny arms conduct without a score

First published in Overtones, Tourane Poetry Press 2022