Notice us there in the last row of the symphony,
snatching at the trembling notes of a violin,
seizing the shimmering strains of an oboe to replay later
in the greedy solitude of the page.
Realize us right there among you, next to you, within you,
sucking at your ecstasies, swallowing your sorrows,
feeding upon your pains and pleasures and flaws and fantasies
to resurrect some word-formed creature whose immortality
is only, is all of—this.