a darkened room fills with a cello’s watercolor light,
its sparse walls and open windows become the body
of the instrument–no pocket of air ignored or useless.
the cellist closes the withered creases of his practiced map
and realizes memory is just a brilliant forgetfulness–
his dancing fingers wipe borders and boundaries clean.
down the hall, a little girl lies on the floor of her morning room
and whispers circular stories in her dog’s ear–
alone together, they are perfectly unfamiliar with technique.
a lone cloud tumbles past in the resonant wind
without thought of presentation or interpretation–
it carries everything of the new day with it.
i reach out my window, pull the cloud from the sky
and surround myself with the untouchable–
endlessly held in the webbed and spreading daybreak.