old piano, three

i have swaddled this song in velvet cloth
and the diaphonous gauze of memory;
the ash that marks its brow is soft

on my palms as i carry it out to sea.
the early morning sun ascends
and hovers over me–

the current upon which my mission depends
washes warm about my feet
i stretch my arms, say a prayer: “defend

this division from suffering repeat.”
i lower my bundle to the water,
watch it drift out– relinquish its heat

to that of the ocean as it moves, father
with arms aloft to receive his son.
here i kneel, whisper to the sand: “daughter

of eve, broken angel, you’ve won.”
you have torn this song’s shelter from my shoulders,
wrapped it round your own. i have nowhere to run.

and my bare skin smolders
from this song’s last melodious kiss,
but the day has grown colder

and now approaches wide arms– mist,
encroaching as my bundle moves out of sight
now i am without music, and this

storm brandishes threats to muffle the light.
you have torn this song from me. weightless,
i move into the wind, am blown away as a kite.

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