There are a few chords in this piece that hang in the air beautifully. The poet is e.e. cummings, and it turns out that the tuning of his voice is exactly matched to the tuning of the knocking guitar. In the last poem, where he begins “sweet spring is your time…” you would think that he was intoning to the music, but the reading was added after I had recorded the music. I placed a microphone out my window to record the neighborhood while I played, at one point there is a bird that seems to be interacting with me, even though there is no way for that bird to have heard what I was doing. But somehow he did.

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