In barlight alchemized: gold pate, the bellmouth

tenor, liquor trapped in a glass. The e-flat

clarinet chases time, strings shudder,

remembering the hundred tongues. Here comes old

snakeshine, scrolls stored in the well, here comes

the sobbing chazzan. O my lucky uncle,

you've escaped the Czar's army. Thunder

is sweet. Here comes the boink, boink bossa

nova slant of light. Snow-dollars

dissolve on a satin tongue. The river

swells green, concrete trembles, and we

sweat, leaning toward mikes and wires

as the last tune burns down to embers. Ash-

whispers. We were born before we were born.