Out of the pale blue
a gull descends, dropping by
degrees, scissoring
the air. I’ve seen this
many times, and each time for
the first time. Sometimes
I can’t think, sometimes
I think of Glenn Gould playing
Bach: It plays the wind.
Out of the pale blue
a gull descends, dropping by
degrees, scissoring
the air. I’ve seen this
many times, and each time for
the first time. Sometimes
I can’t think, sometimes
I think of Glenn Gould playing
Bach: It plays the wind.