wishing upon feverish heat, Titan rain, proud to meet
him. crawling in a crib, those first years, those patchwork whispers. slain it
seems, cherry blossoms, needing more wisdom—a hungry soul, to find sin, nestled
at a dream. I’d imagine a darkened earth, concentrated on good times, it was
sullen and sweet; those eyes, filled with advice, those hands, filled with
divinity. to honor a portrait, to take a torch, to do piano & sacred guitar—location,
it would perish, crib tossed out, a new bed, tucked in by mother, laughing over
tales, father, a legend in times. Those first years, tearless raindrops,
glowing treasure, cultic connection. I’d imagine rubescent sunrise, a serious
soul, full of victuals—vivid essence, violet memories, tucking pain inside. oh
fortunate souls, to learn jumping jacks, to sing a quintet, with a sister on
her way, to become classical—when it was done, life was violin, days were
violas, sung to neighboring skies.
