IN G MINOR

'Yet remember that golden youth - the ice gobbled . . .
Eine kleine Nachtmusik scored, late, with
no note crossed through . . . nature's old profligate
grace. 'In the picture, the viola's laid
by . . . wine-dark velvet cushions. Horse-cabs beat
the aural fresco. Over the manuscript
paper, gilt-edged in candlelight's old warmth,
a trumpet dips - or horn, leant from a loud-

speaker? That record sleeve's His Master's Voice?
'Ever Mozart?' 'I loved the irony,
ringing true. Now I only listen to
the up beat . . . if I can. Life, after all,
is all adagio,' Her artist's eyes
bore into me. 'The poet goes on down
beat to the end, trailing vers libre, weighted with
lead acceptance, while we, consuming . . . want
...