Harmonics

My polyphony butterflies your passing note.
There's my 7th - a needy hybrid - jazzy, unpredictable,
suspended; hovering over the wrong chord,
propagating like Coltrane overlapping;
cascading, bubbling volatile streams
and vulnerable, when I meant to take it slow.

The mystical quality of harmony pointed to the planets,
heavenly music, or a musical outpouring of love,
while I was busy wondering about chaos, structure,
and moments of perfect understanding. It is simple.
Primary triads are colourful progressions of chords
heading to the dominant, and back again.

You are my tonic; the bagpipe drone, and the voice.
I know refrains of parallel notes are the lines of our separation.
They say it is a fault of the eye to see lines converging,
as I say it is a fault of the ear, all along the bend of a harp.
How deaf are we to the magnetic aspect of notes,
leaning back into the music of another?

We chose chord progression, and searched
for the third melody note to hit two drones,
We became robust major three note chords, or fragile minor
triad tones, each dominant, each a tonic. We knew nothing,
wrote it down, and they say they hear Nature breathing,
augmented or diminished, in every breath. Play on, I say.

They say it is a fault of the eye to see parallel lines converging,
as I say it is a fault of the ear, all along the bend of a harp.

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