I've hardly listened to Stockhausen
since he left

Was it his own shrouded
enchantment
that made his sonic
constructs
glow and pulsate?

Now they seem just brittle
dusty
spider webs
sticking to your clothes,
sand crackling 'tween your teeth

I turn my face the other way
and head into the wind

away from the dark silhouettes
of goblin castles,
away from this awkward
dance of ghosts