Middle ear is the altar of the goddess of Os.
Beyond the flesh-sketched helix of outer ear
(the whole Outer’s a fruit gone bad in the bowl)

is a discipline ‘for life’ and a pure métier:
the exquisite stirrup, hammer, and anvil
of the middle ear, altar of the goddess of Os.

‘Such hidden sweetness,’ says Rumi, ‘is found
in the empty stomach’. A
reductio ad absurdum
is best practice, therefore therefore therefore . . .

The bones are organised air, a marvellous
cancellous marrow-soul, the empty self-listening lute.
Middle ear is the altar of the goddess of Os.