Paradox

There was a tone, half-tone, stroke of the harp
Divided among precious trunks, whose bark
Bloomed over long nights and found the stars
Proclaiming virtue on the brows of czars.

Half shadow of the sun by day and night,
Carved from the leopard skins of stones
Most musically, in combinations made of bones
That stand behind suggestions in our tones,

Sphinx and specter, spectacle:
Hear a prayer of augmentations, sounds
Stretched on the strings of strangers,
Not the flower or the fruit,
Whose sap is instrument and song.