Listening to Mahler’s Fifth

Cover of Planet of the and dog....

Perhaps as a poet said, there really is a tale lit by the soft light of sleep. “Perhaps” grows around the house like birches. Perhaps there’s a meadow where the dead dogs frolic. I’ll never give up on perhaps. A fritillary lands on the unpainted porch, having returned just now to earth through a black sieve.


It rains in the apple trees
Where a crow settles
In a dome of blossoms—

I watch him
With my clear head
The way blind people do…


But the music. Nobility. Dignified growth of the man. No more hunched shoulders.

And Mahler, always an intruder, never welcomed, little Bohemian, as a boy, conducting the birch trees…

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: