A group of workers hammering this morning
An ensemble of percussionists
I count three
Pacing themselves
it is hard to discern where
A roof, replacing siding or
The skin of a deck
Pacing themselves
like runners do
Aware of time left
distance to go
There is a rhythm
Though no melody
Unless you add the swoosh
Of the cars
People on the way to work
The echoes in this room
rain yet to fall
Now a swollen pall
muffling each blow
of the padded mallet
no arpeggios
no bravado
just cleaving of pine
wood and steel
wedded to this
concerto grosso
Peter Ciccariello
Providence, RI, USA
22 June 2005
ARTIST'S BLOG - http://invisiblenotes.blogspot.com/
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