Satyr

The pipe started in the grove before the goat legs showed. A satyr leaned on a tree, horns, hooves, the Greek wild in a human grin, wine dark on the mouth. People who heard the tune walked slower. They carried a satyr gift of that unhurried heat. It returns in satyr playing cards that will not be rushed, in a satyr notebook with a tune written as words, in a satyr postcard of the horn and the reed pipe. The grove goes dim. The pipe does not stop.