A strand of fugue
from barrel’s depth
shoots out a trill.

Chimes & cymbals,
clanging my earrings
like cowbells.

I step right in.

Toes soaked in fugue water,
a bucket of Bach
to wash me in clefs.

The soapy tonal underbelly,
a reflection of the inverse,
an unbraided melody.

Washed in arpeggios,
skin glistening with Bach oil,
I dive in to meet music’s
mischievous genius.

Carried away by water music,
I am saved
by
drowning.

Summer 1984