If I were a pure sound
I’d be a low hum in the concert hall
before the first note is struck, 

or the sound of 
a rung bell
fading;

enough presence
to make myself known
without intruding,

enough uncertainty
that one could argue 
for hours if I should be

considered
part of the Music — 
I do, of course, but then again

I think the indecision
and arguing over that
is also part of the Music:

sometimes percussion,
sometimes counterpoint melody.
If I were pure sound,

I’d stay with you,
right in the ridge
of your ear;

disappearing
at the moment
you fell asleep

unless I were allowed
to pulse on
into your dreams;

if I were pure sound,
purely sound,
I’d be honored

to sing 
in your sleep
for as long as I am wanted there.