If I could write..

If I could write how the light looked—
glowing softly on the stucco
pale gold against the blue shadows
of the courtyard
How the sky was a deep clear pool
and the towering eucalyptus fell against it
If I could write like the swelling strings
the notes that came spilling through the pillars, onto the sidewalk
or how it was to pause at the edge of the light and listen
leaning against the rough, cool stone,
If I could speak like the instruments spoke, wordless and for everyone
or could say how it was to hear the song fade into the traffic,
caught in the folds of the Valley,
and to stop,
and go back across the street, and walk to the light’s edge,
I could tell how it was enough,
to hear the song rise in this one place,
although the strings stilled and it was done.