If I had the third wish to spare
………………………nobody does
I’d take old Schubert down to a bar
………………………whose piano’s
chipped teeth crash like a brawl
………………………no one applauds,
scales of attrition, sanded-down Braille
spelling out ashtrays & lost loves
………………………& glass-ring stains
like scars the clock-mouthed lamprey leaves
………………………behind, the sign
of the kiss of ever-more-delible life—
Schubert, dead man in a black cravat,
………………………if the hour comes,
I’ll sit you there to sight-read straight
………………………through one-eyed James
Booker’s “Sunny Side of the Street,”
………………………blues of dooms-
day thinking better of whether it ought
to glower & grimace, Sturm und Drang,
………………………or spend itself
instead eternitizing song
………………………hid in the off-
beat, the half light, the grace note, the long
white fingers deep in the black keys,
………………………the hourglass as
high or higher than it ever was,
………………………its gold dust
running, whatever your century is,
………………………the next, the last,
in somebody else’s veins, & fast.