To a musician

A poignant yet-to-be-played shelved
Dust-coated music unheard—inglorious race of hooves 
Of a thousand titans unwalked; a vast plain 
Of dream-phantoms unleashed; unlighted 
And so unblighted—untainted blast of hanabi unlit—possibility 
The only splendour; or that of sight, more transparent 
Than summer night darkness—

And a denser gratitude for the warm earthly embrace
From a closing cadence.

Dale Chou
2003-05-10