There appears to be a law - something about
music and pauses, cadence and rest. You can
hear it in the air around us, see it in the sky.
It is by what we rule our lives. Not for nothing
is every latest thing called a labor-saving
contrivance. But haven't we outgrown that?
This is, after all, the age of new stars -
theories of the planets and propounded odes.
Start from scratch; we have earned the world.
Somewhere distant trumpets, and clarinets?
Somewhere else, a tympani of sound lacking
only definition. The horn-man, after all,
has his doubts.