I tire as I carve the passage
Til the wind peeks out from underneath.
Yes, I guess this is clean now.

And the worked-over sounds
of newly learned notes on the violin
escape the box beneath my chin

and bustle out the window beside me,
off on their own like geese
following the curve of the sky curtain,

their way lit periodically
by lanterns
pounded into the clouds

by the brushes of Sienese painters.