The long story says the reptilian ear
evolved, breaking its bone into the three small bones
that, as separate, fitted, tissue-bound, do the better work
we do, noting the tinier details of the forest.
Three bones and the shiver of things in the distance
to rival any jeweler with his monocle,
any watch laid bare to the finepoint tweezer.
And we are born this way, broken, and so listening
to the other pieces of the puzzle. Remember
the mobile of stars, how it snowed a little music,
and the music had parts too small to isolate.
I must have heard them too. Not knowing what they were.
I was just a little watch after all. A glint
in the larger drama. And everything was changing,
breaking, like a stick on fire. And the music
I took to heart began to shatter into small
and smaller parts, without ceasing to be music,
so there would always be something in there
I heard and did not know I heard. Articulate
as dark rain. A flute here. A lizard in the ivy.