Mozart Favorites

A concerto is on repeat, gazing into a night, speaking through

a piano. I’m adrift in keys, pondering a young swan. She

dreams in strings, piercing grey, alive in pastel colors. Hear

a wind, my heart, where an orchestra dances in G Minor.

Such Allegra, a work of Mozart, streaming a synaptic gap.

Are you there, my soul: laughing, and swinging upon a porch?

I imagine a number of favorites, tiptoeing upon images, even

symbols of E-flat. So fly a Latin classic, and mend a broken

stitch, only to crochet a quilt. Yes, my darling: a cello is both

soft and torn: echoes of a heart; and there you write, mining

rubies, and testing gold. I welcome such youth, where heaven

is ever an alert violin—and stars become drums, aloft an

earthquake. So sketch a face, and soar in prose, only to

crescendo in rhyme; for girth is talent, a cymbal for each day,

where perfection is the details.