The poem below is by Barnett Berger.
Six A.M.
The river sends its chill
The stars above are incantatory
Wishing me well
Creation of sound is my purpose
Heard or unheard
Harmonious or distant
Taut with dissonance
Or flowing with the signals
Calling sweet love
I am a wingwalker
And for an unknown swatch of time
I walked with death
Holding me close
So close I never knew its loving embrace
And could not respond
My home is Jordan
My wishes and desires
Have no matter
But there is sound
Only sound
Always sound
Words are simple pickings
From the gardens of fruit
There but for the leaving
