Introit & Fugue

After death, my father

practices meticulously

until the Bach is seamless,

spun glass in a dream,

you can no longer tell

where the modulations are,

or the pedal shifts

or the split fingerings . . .

if he rests

it’s to wind the metronome

or sip his cup of ice . . .

but who is the other old man

in the identical flannel gown,

head cocked, listening

ever more critically,

deeper in the empty room?

Copyright Credit: D. Nurkse, “Introit and Fugue” from The Rules of Paradise (New York: Four Way Books, 2001). Used by permission of Four Way Books.

Source: Poetry (August 1990)