Stravinsky’s “Agon”

With a labyrinth of frayed notes
on scribbled sheets,
with an ardor astonishing us,
augmented on a ladder’s podium
by an oak brow on a human face,
my great uncle knew
in the muted spring,
Igor, you composed
with pensive fingers
on a baby grand piano
by the swell of the baton
in the shifting wind
of augmented chords
on fabled scales
of twelve-toned peaks
with a string of voices
mirroring light-years
as a musical visionary awakens us
on sunless days
from the underground
into sharp harmonies
of reshaped nature.