Bright disks of sound
Spin through the air —
Metallic petals falling on the ground
From trees that bear
Somewhere in the spaces of the night.

Not petals, these
Spheres of tone;
But rounded luscious shapes of harmonies —
Like fruit, wind-blown,
Scattered wantonly upon the night.

Not shapes, but suddenly embodied song
With wings that lift
Into a throng
Of iridescent butterflies... and drift...
Into the nothingness beyond the night.