When music is far enough away <br />the eyelid does not often move <br /> <br />and objects are still as lavender <br />without breath or distant rejoinder. <br /> <br />The cloud is then so subtly dragged <br />away by the silver flying machine <br /> <br />that the thought of it alone echoes <br />unbelievably; the sound of the motor falls <br /> <br />like a coin toward the ocean's floor <br />and the eye does not flicker <br /> <br />as it does when in the loud sun a coin <br />rises and nicks the near air. Now, <br /> <br />slowly, the heart breathes to music <br />while the coins lie in wet yellow sand.<br /><br />Frank O'Hara<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-quiet-poem/
