The harpsichord

releases sounds

of crystal line,                      

rapid decay.                                


They are like love                            

that fast surrounds

the astonished sense,                        

then falls away,                    


Unless the hands                              

that gave them voice

renew them in                              

another range,                              


So that the act                             

of willful choice

makes constancy                                     

while moments change.                    


Thus when I loved you                                         


that might have been

the end of it,      


But you gave answer 

to my play          

and made sure I     

would not forget.   


Measure for measure,

love for love,      

this instant's born 

where that one dies.


We are bound to     

the learning of     

the unknown song    

we improvise.


 Jan Schreiber