Chords
In the morning, a Sunday morning, shadows of sea and adumbrants of rock in her eyes . . . horseback in leather boots and leather gauntlets by the sea.
In the evening, a Sunday evening, a rope of pearls on her white shoulders . . . and a speaking, brooding black velvet, relapsing to the voiceless . . . battering Russian marches on a piano . . . drive of blizzards across Nebraska.
Yes, riding horseback on hills by the sea . . . sitting at the ivory keys in black velvet, a rope of pearls on white shoulders.
In the evening, a Sunday evening, a rope of pearls on her white shoulders . . . and a speaking, brooding black velvet, relapsing to the voiceless . . . battering Russian marches on a piano . . . drive of blizzards across Nebraska.
Yes, riding horseback on hills by the sea . . . sitting at the ivory keys in black velvet, a rope of pearls on white shoulders.
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