by Jennifer K. Sweeney

There is a blue city in mind 
 constructed slantways
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.