Dispatches From Col. Kurtz

Yoko Ono said:
   "wood becomes a flute
   when it's loved."
I say a flute becomes melody
   when it's loved.
When melody is allowed to
   dance and sing,
   it becomes attractive to other melodies;
Melodies in love lie with each other
   in counterpoint
   and give birth to Harmony.
Before the child Harmony opens its eyes
   it sees and knows
   the form of the song.
There it is. A finger pointing to the moon.
The bright-voiced siren, Ligeia, a bird-woman, sings,
   you sail to her, you love her, and you die.
A good composer is one who doesn't compose:
   he allows music to grow
   in this way; by itself,
   naturally, without force,
   without cleverness, without effort.
Sacrificing his life to the muse
   in an act of love.