“The Octave” by Daniel Haskin


What is this sound
That breaks me
But I listen still
Inside my wrists
Can it be forgotten
Like the slamming door
On my last breath
Or do I succumb
To its trickery

Is it lost
Without end
Or without death
Do I train my ear
To read the spell
Or lay my hand in the sky
And listen like braille

Even pain has a sound
Though it shakes
Turns on its own kind
Deep and shuttering
And worn like a dog

When I was young
I had depth of purpose
Now my hands are stiff tired
No tuning to my bones
I can’t reach the octave
Fingers twist
Darkness reverberates


Daniel Haskin is a Buffalo NY based poet, writer, musician, visual artist, and illustrator. His chapbooks of poetry include “Amnesia”, “Past Life Invisible”, “The Shallow Sea”, and his newly published work “Picture Book: Love, Death Time, and Assorted Ekphrasis”. He has also been published in various newspapers, and national journals.