Music Theory
Stephen Koritta

So what if I shatter?
That which comes after
is why it’s worth one last attempt
to ascend the unsteady ladder.
Just above me is the loft of her soft laughter,
It reassures that I’ve rightly deciphered
what remained unclosed by quotes.
I caught the staccato of her turning tone,
slowed it down,
sketched it onto a staff.
Half way up the clef, I noticed notes.
Passions sing to us in syncopations of happen and hush.
I tasted it
in much the same way a gourmet might taste the haste
in a slapdash dish.
Covered in it’s bed of clever noise, sleeps our sly wish.
Done up to look like accidents,
these premeditated murmurs.
The hint of what’s been wanted
is why I’m undaunted
by how indented the ground below has grown.
It’s because I’ve known a sudden litany
to erupt above the monotony
of not-to-be.