Joseph Dixon

    Who carved this shattered harp on my stone?
    I died to you, no doubt. But how many harps and pianos
    Wired I and tightened and disentangled for you,
    Making them sweet again - with tuning fork or without?
    Oh well! A harp leaps out of the ear of a man, you say,
    But whence the ear that orders the length of the strings
    To a magic of numbers flying before your thought
    Through a door that closes against your breathless wonder?
    Is there no Ear round the ear of a man, that it senses
    Through strings and columns of air the soul of sound?
    I thrill as I call it a tuning fork that catches
    The waves of mingled music and light from afar,
    The antennae of
    Thought that listens through utmost space.
    Surely the concord that ruled my spirit is proof
    Of an Ear that tuned me, able to tune me over
    And use me again if I am worthy to use.