I wake to hear the orchestra is tuning,
The notes ring disconnected through my mind,
Fragments of a tune I can’t remember,
A melody I knew, but left behind.
A double bass begins between my shoulders;
The rage of age, that surges up my spine,
plucks and pulls at sinews, twists and ties them.
Jarring sounds I cannot quite define.
Joining in, the beat of the percussion,
Insistent tapping just behind my knee,
The rhythmic knock that hides a quieter clicking;
A hip that is no longer dancing free
The choir is getting louder, asking questions,
Shouting down the soothing call of sleep,
Insistent, as it builds to a crescendo;
Roaring past, the years I cannot keep.