I never could have thought my keyboard transforms so naturally into a grand piano every time I write. The prelude, the exposition, the recapitulation: it's my mind that creates; the fingers execute.

goodbye to the words

goodbye to the words

we’ve lost, the songs

dropped in transit; look

the bells have forgotten

their chime, the doors

creak, give way

to alleyways of soot,

scrap, fatigue. Yes,

between this breaking and

building, between

the amassing together

of flotsam, the jetsam

of a million loves and losses,

the spires do rise




to catch the first sun, and

I know my going away is just

a beginning…