Allegretto

There is music in the garden at night.
Near a window, a woman unbraids her hair.
Our feet are sore from the immobility of winter--
all things heavy and superfluous as plaques in the city of the blind.

Now, cardinals ring small bells
and priests forget their prayer books on a wooden bench and doze.
I am the woman by the window unbraiding her hair.
Vivaldi rows a gondola. There is a mild breeze.
Once again, there is music in the garden at night. 
_____

for this.