there is a pulse in the room
in betwixt the strains
weaving a new refrain
spooky shades cannot hide the eyes
music is not why
it travels a weft that listeners hold
and touches strings inside
a jangle now a sudden strum
the long note drawn and run
into a cascade of brass
frettless and taut
low though they filled the room
even with a haunt noisesome
rain filled rained upon streets
far from owns to complete
cleft in some unearthly pall
saving for an edge
that glows and wraps and then
past the towering night
into the open wide