The Pitch (H. Levick)

There is one note
Which is not being sounded
Thus the earth is hung
From an oak and peoples
Slide from its flanks

Throughout the world players
Pump wail gliss blow pluck hit
Press bow pizz punch beat belt
Seeking the pitch that prays

But beautiful as the music is,
Dedicated and striving
As the players are,

The redemptive arising
Remains shimmering in language

The pitch is not sounded

We listen

For the wound’s violent
And enduring overcoming

Waves of music web the earth
Web both visible and invisible
Zones of water wind and sky

We wait and listen

For that leap
Into audible fire
That reanimates the executed earth
Intoning its oppressed
And muted multitudes….