by Jennifer K. Sweeney
There is a blue city in mind
Along a rippling canal,
Clean and unpeopled but for a musician
Who plays a harp without strings
The city has but one chair where he sits by
the broad strokes of water.
A lone streetlamp tends its blue arc of light,.
A Persian door A zeppelin sky.
The world filters through his empty frame
as he plucks the air.
Maybe you hear a song
or maybe you don’t
That is the choice we are always making.