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
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
again
again
again
to catch the first sun, and
I know my going away is just
a beginning…