His is the soundtrack within as the blood and skin
Rise translated. His music glides with star fusion,
Just as a distant craft must through space.
Harold Budd seeded stars in his minor keys
And suspensions. A Sculptor at work around silence
He also threaded a shape through air’s loom.
As with the Enos and Gavin Bryars, he soothes
Through sowing sound sprung dark flowers.
He was a cartographer clearly, charting a scented path
Through lost rooms. There was no surrender to time
In Budd’s world, there was instead, a mastery of it.
He found the correct key for dreaming and the tempo