Brittle and frail
Perception to perceptions
There lies perfection
It doesn’t lie
Stands perfect and tall
Much tug, Leads to fall
Maintains a standard
Not standard for all

My soul has lift off,
the slow tempo of
my breath suddenly
boundless

My drums perforate
surrounded by a
universal register of
beats and measures
rolled into a mysterious,
melodic constellation

Dashing across the board
my fingers feverishly frisk
for the keys
of
Mozart, Prokofiev,
Rachmaninoff

With hammers and strings
I scale the sounds
of perfection
while properly perched
in front of
Grandma's Pianola
pretending to be
composed

Amber Moon, so full
please be still,
do not continue to rise
for the strength of your pull
will command the tears
to break free from the
lonely corners of my eyes

Amber Moon,
stay where you are
don't let our distance
make me reach too far,
While getting sleepy
on the sand,
the eve lays you to rest
upon the palm of my hand

Amber Moon,
the sweet harvest
that feeds my soul
the mystery of
your orange glow
never grows old