writing is not how music is supposed to be 
a house where the trees are all bent one way 
on one side the tower 
on the other a string of railroad cars. 

             the bridge is violet 
             the county line infinity 
             the grand canal vanishes 

a certain kind of quality of being is possible 

When I went to Germany I visited Beethoven’s house and bought 
a postcard reproduction of part of a score. I bought it because I 
believed I could see individual notes scratched out. I thought 
Beethoven had made a mistake, that he had begun something and 
changed his mind. . . . this gave me great hope.