Sky-pain

A piano, so ancient and elegant, capturing both tone and pain;

and porcelain keys, feature psyches, a sage affair, sketched

and painted. We watch as Sophia doodles and molds and

graphs a shore of symbols. An orchestra awaits composition—

a fount of motion and grace. Love has never tasted so mad;

and skin has never posed so sad. Gates and windows open and

shatter: science explains something Christian: and chi rises

with intelligence. It’s ever a fever, trickling through a ceiling—

and fracturing both cups and glasses. So give us this art: a life

of halos, crammed into envelopes—relics and artifacts; else,

we perish, tiptoeing symbols, crying and dying through mirrors.     

Our pulse—beating rapids—sailing and climbing, ruptured by

the music. Thus, forgive a year driven with sight; where such

dome and sky lost an earth and rose a treasure.