I kept coming back to the piano in the shadow filled night
deleted dream sequences of halls full of stain glass
the rolling keys underneath hands
the progression unfolding in the background
do your eyes Own the memories shaped as a child
through rolling hills along these scrawled lines
tribal minds learnt during Mother’s story time
when one hand stands still in front of another
under a bell That towers above but now longer rings
On the Prow of the breakers seamless sail
obviously at odds with the expressionism
Of time when even keels and weights
shift from the heal to the weighted toe
now measured Capricorn line
A belittled solitaire of honeycombs
As I now watch weathering along a beach.
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