Art Garfunkel

I don’t know if we have souls
But imagine we do
Then play Garfunkel singing
“I only have eyes for you”

His voice
Like clouds
Angelic
Will stroke your soul like
Warm, amber honey
Unguent, glowing
Anointing
Gently inflaming
Like seeping perfume

Or

Like Amber again
On shallow pools at the seaside
Rippling and reflecting sunset.

Perhaps he sat looking at East River
Or the Brooklyn Bridge
Maybe the Statue of Liberty melted
And lowered her gaze
Looking out towards the Atlantic
Graciously welcoming a breeze
That resembled his voice

The fiery glow of neon
And the wandering pathways of Central Park
The austere gothic skyscrapers
Measuring miles in the sky
And the steaming subway manholes
Belching out citizens
Into orphaned streets

The butterfly buzz in the atmosphere
After a baseball bat swings
And touches the electric crackle
Of glistening Times Square
All melting into your coffee cup
Gulped gently
Sipped slowly
Smoothening the crevices of your soul
As the song (timing it’s seconds out)
Comes to a slow stop
Leaving on your tongue
The aftertaste of heaven

Ave verum corpus

Every few days I pick a song
And wear it for a week or so.
Last week it was Bach's "Air"
This week, Mozart's "Ave verum corpus."

It's a privilege to stand in that line
Where the orphans are given food by the faithful.

I wore "corpus" the first day
When some of its divine choral voices
Came to me like a streak of holy sunlight on my bed.

I saw the twirling dust particles go back and forth
Like wavering humans in this still spiritual light.

I wore the song through shimmering heat-haze
On dusty roads, driving for an hour.

I wore it sitting on my terrace
Gazing at my potted plants at dawn.

I wore it the next day
Watching my daughter, fast asleep.

I wore it at midnight, hearing the hum of the AC
And the quiet of the moonlight.

It's strange to wear divine music
Through so many alleys and lanes
To hear it touch with grace whatever it sees

A week's gone by, it's time to take the song off now.
But before I do I want to hear it one last time.
With the tentacles of my imagintion withdrawn
I want to hear it
By itself
Pure
Naked
Music

Perhaps this time it'll be like the "brahman" the mystics talked about
When the senses detach themselves from illusory objects.

And I hear music in - only itself
Pure
Divine bliss!