Charles Edward Ives Poem by Brian Teare

There is no word can hold a chord no analogy fits ear
forte, into eye
a stanza a piano inside it would stifle, would rife with
hands fitting felt to phoneme, syllables to hammers, signs
hinges, singing.
Seized by strings, a stanza whose whole interior rings
syntax tightened to tune
to show a word vibrate

sympathetic with another—
Structure is image as prayer is to kneeling the composer reasons :

two hands opens the keyboard to weird the signature
raise the voice music retreats
into form's firmament
divinity free to live without—