It is like the musical figurine
on the bedside stand
that, for no reason,
begins to play, first
one tinkly note, then another.
The room has been quiet,
and now, the small ceramic girl
with her pink sun hat
and her kneeling sheep moves
ever so slightly and the invisible metal
tines plink out notes
to an unfamiliar song.
And then they stop. And then
start again. There is no
visible hand turning
the crank to initiate
the music. And isn’t that
just how it happens sometimes,
how you feel as if
you, too, do not feel nor see
the hand that turns you,
but out of nothing
a music arrives in you
and though it is
a mystery, you nod
and say thank you, thank you.