I have been visited by an entire swarm of birds.
Look up, into the sky, and see how autumn shaves the farmlands.

His list of students is an impressive one: Mahler, Liszt, Willie Mays.
How the music of Robert Fuchs influenced the 1962 World Series is a topic for a
   dissertation on the cavilings of sound.

Callomania is another.
Like calling into the camerated chambers of your lover’s heart.

Look down, into the sky, spoiled there in a muddy pool.
Bathe in the visitation of a thousand swarms of bees.

Study the box score of your life.
Sit mornings. Sit mornings with Jack Spicer at Gino & Carlo’s bar and allow the sound.
   Allow the sound of all the stolen bases. All the foul balls he might repeat.

Come back. Come back to Fort Wayne, Jack. Every student. Every student of mine is
   pleading.
I am about to retire my turtleneck and tweed.

Oh, the words we work, working us. There have been too many and not enough.
There is a Carthaginian Peace. The Roman spears assured us that all the elephants are
   dead.