Write softly. Listen only
to the Western harp,
trail its chords: they’ll guide.

Timbales are too loud,
a howling pound
of overstatement.

Notes ought to float
like helium balloons
held by silk strings.

This is true melody—

not the thump and gallop
of congas—so stay
within these staves.

And if you feel
compelled to strike
a dissonant chord
like the ones South

of this border,
sit on your hands.