Text by Sandra Marchetti


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Droplets. Clumping molecules.

Leaves' breaths
on the backs of cars
that only through water were—

and then were only ever

particular ghosts—

a neon peridot.

The pollen falls around,

pushes back
through nostrils,
sifts in lashes,

lands in beds

under eyelids.

We pull our eyelids
at their sheeted corners,
as if to press the eye all the more

toward the bloom,
the dusty after-center of nature's

first derivation.

Program Notes

Simple intuitive lines build into lush harmonies, making this piece accessible to intermediate choirs while sounding harmonically advanced.  The poem is by contemporary Chicago-based poet Sandra Marchetti, who you can read about here and here.

© 2018 Michael Maiorana