This happens in Schubert And elsewhere,

Iowa, for example.
There is something incomplete that lingers,

Trails off
And a pause —

That lengthens
And goes on — and on.

Strand by strand,
The rope breaks.

The fingertips cannot remember
The last thing they touched.

The boat pulls away from the dock —
The old confusion

Between forgetting and loss.
Then a series of notes played more slowly,

Echoing — remotely, precisely —

The previous phrase,
Almost a melody,

On the edge —
A very slow waterfall

Suggesting completeness,

In the interstices of the stars.

~Robert Rehder

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