More Poetry Outtakes

Nachtmusik

Fear touches me
as I stumble
through a square of black,
sensing a sad tune
floating along like fog--
not heard, but felt,

creeping along,
clinging to walls,
embracing statues.
A music for the eyes,
no longer heard;
a memory of music.

A flicker in a window dies,
and the night
becomes a graveyard--
each dark obstacle
sprawling before me
as a corpse of these hours.