It starts with a screech, a howl,
the brute’s pure note
guarding its kill, sweet wail
as loins lock to further the line,
a fossil’s plaint diminished in stone.
Only slowly, painstaking, tenacious,
are words shaped around the sounds,
the true range to be staked out
in arias, each mastered stage,
until, in achieved splendor,
a man stands dazzlingly alone
amidst the spectacle, the music
an horizon arranged about him,
his mouth holding eternally the O
in which silence empties itself into song.