Pencil Seating

On a plan of a small stage,
six chairs wait in pencil.
Nothing has sounded yet.
The marks can still be moved.

Put the low notes near the floor,
where a shadow might gather.
Give the melody a seat
with a little space beside it.

The first arrangement looks balanced.
That tells us something
about the drawing.

Sound will have other questions.

Perhaps the quiet part disappears
beneath a bright arrival.
Perhaps two voices find
the same word at once,
and neither needs to leave.

Try fewer notes.
Keep the earlier plan.
A thinner line may carry farther,
or lose the warmth
that made it worth repeating.

There is no answer
in the neatness of the chairs.

Across the pencilled stage
a phrase takes three measured steps.
At the fourth,
it turns toward an empty place.

Someone could breathe there.

A lyric has to cross
from marks into a mouth,
through teeth and tongue,
through the small resistance
of saying what it means.

Give that crossing time.
Let the consonant land.
Let the vowel open
before the next voice enters.

The plan remains a plan,
its promise waiting
for the test of sound.

Beside the six chairs,
the pencil rests,
still sharp.