The Piano. (A photo essay.)

Out of the darkness…
Came the light.

I reminisce about a grace – ancient and true.

From times in my crib, spoken as if in a monastic cell.

I didn’t know where you came from.
Or why you went away.
I had an expression of loneliness that could not be named.
What could possibly be ‘lonesome’ for an infant?

I was too young, too vulnerable; too alone.
I missed you when you were gone,
And I missed you when you were here.

Motherless.

Impregnated with sound,
Imbued with imperfection.
Desires known, and unknown.
The touch of all of the forgotten and frozen hours.
And lovers.

Pathways beyond memories.
Streets with houses.
And houses with streets.
All with dust.
Blueprints of intimacy – written in dust.
Designs of vulnerability, some transparent. Some not.
Sung with dust.

Skid marks and shadows,
Resonance of bells,
And cathedrals.
Of pasture and mountain.

And good friends, some who still live.
Some who live: still.

Others still sound.

Out of the darkness…
Comes the light.
Tellement d’histoires.

‘Been playin’ all of my life.

I was saved.
Amen.