Not broken music, music still half-built,
its girders and its scaffolding on view.
Each repetition shows us something new
that we half-heard before, but with a tilt
that brings it ever closer to the best.
Perfect because imperfect, not yet fixed,
a growing thing with flaws and fineness mixed.
And after some few hours they take a rest
Eat chocolate, gossip, joke and flirt and tease.
Be human in the time between the notes
that sound as if they came from other throats
than human, sounds of gods, or brass, or trees.
Gold webs of sound are woven on this loom
ten people working in a little room.