“The sky was English sky that day:
A patchwork stitched from drizzled grey.”
With nothing else to do, we spent
all day riding different sound waves.
We started on a single note,
a C, to see if C-waves were
the same, in any way, as sea-waves.
They weren’t. We braved a leitmotif
and used it like a rollercoaster.
We surfed on awkward intervals:
augmented fifth; diminished fourth;
Then, quite exhausted by the speed,
a silent wave of avant-gard
allowed us all to catch our thoughts.