o r c h e s t r a t e d


Seating was reserved in
The rear of the theater
She’d worn all black, heavy
Makeup, and a wig of long
Blond hair

Unrecognizable

He was seated in the
First row onstage
Once a mountain of
Desolation
He’d transformed into
A church bell

Sundays

“Lonely people don’t
Want friends because
Sorrow keeps them
Alive. Sadness is cold
And people are warm,”
He once said.

Preservation

He was a wild moment
That turned her into
A seagull, then tied
Her to a bedpost with
Creative handcuffs

Procreation

Many a candle was
Broken at his feet
Then melted in Life’s
Burning – Trapping
His Footprints

Confusion

“You’ve got to discern
Hell from Passion, Kisses
From Love, and Condition
From Innovation,” she said.

Isolation

Tempters gnawed at his
Sleep with bouquets of
Despairing obligation
To wilt and die at the
Mere vibration of Music

Recovery

She watches him in awe
Listening to a vellum
Trumpet trace itself into
Into her bones, while his
Lips translate spotlights

Heaven