Sonnet 13

The archaeologist-composer sits
Alone with ivory dichotomous
Invoking ancient muses with his wits
To search for relics to be shared with us

The fingers brushing tenderly at keys
Are soon set digging eagerly for bones
Beyond, awaiting, musics long to be
Awakened from their spirit-gramophones

Some come from different individuals
Some, lovers lying flush among the dead
Some fragments piece together greater wholes
To build an image from the dusty bed

We find, as is with archaeology,
That composition is discovery