And again the perplexed yearning (knowing its return)

to define where from where and why to find justification

as though it was its fault – although it knows that there

is neither excuse nor mistake in an almost spring afternoon

when the dilapidated Music School of the neighborhood is shut

down and the poorest girl in the world got permission to stay

there a bit longer playing the big black piano very loud

in the third floor room with the narrow windows

some immense impromptu scales that

make the faded red velvet curtain

flap above the bus ticket collectors with

the used tickets on the sidewalk of the bus stop

and with the cloud in the chimney though rosy