Scordatura
The room shifts in unsteady candlelight.
To love you would be impossible now.
Tomorrow is upon us and the cruel
science of harmonics has been adjusted
to accommodate this sense of release.
How did he know, Heinrich Biber, that to
retune the violin could drain the world
of light and pack it surreptitiously
into a passacaglia where grief
and wonder are the same. How would you know
which one was which, which word meant what, because
to love you would be impossible now.
