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About this Poem 

“I wrote this poem on January 27, 2013 after attending a recital by Marc-André Hamelin in Baltimore. I think it was mostly a Rachmaninoff program. As I listened, I remembered it was Mozart’s birthday, and I thought about scales of time—what is lasting, what love outlasts, and what outlasts love.”
Richie Hofmann


I look for words in the dark,
silently describing to myself
the particular conditions of the weather
on the morning I saw you most recently—
the wind, its patterned disarray—
my mind elsewhere, distracted, lyrical,
while the pianist plays an encore.
Mozart was born on this day
257 years ago. All day
I have been ungenerous, resentful,
impatient. In between
movements, no applause
but the old ladies cough loudly, violently.
We cannot last forever.
I loved music before I loved books.
I loved Mozart before I loved you.

Copyright © 2015 by Richie Hofmann. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2015 by Richie Hofmann. Used with permission of the author.

Richie Hofmann

Richie Hofmann

Richie Hofmann is the author of Second Empire (Alice James Books, 2015). 

by this poet


Because I am a boy, the untouchability of beauty
is my subject already, the book of statues
open in my lap, the middle of October, leaves
foiling the wet ground
in soft copper. “A statue
must be beautiful
from all sides,” Cellini wrote in 1558.
When I close the book,


It was not penitence I sought, standing outside
the bedroom in the old apartment

where you had spent the night alone.
To bend, to kneel before some greater force—

that was no longer what I wished.
Clouds blew in from the coast, and I felt

the sun abandoning the window behind me,