february 28, part 2.
lookin so hard that it's easy to forget...all i could ever need is never further than two doors over.

february 28, 2001
something about the air outside feels wrong. even within the embrace of walls and rooves, the air whips deep into my mind, weaves its way into corners that should be hidden and ruffles pages better left unread. last night i heard happiness above me and next door and in the raindrops outside, sounds that came from upturned lips and celebrating hands. but my sound stayed fast, a constant silence among the noises of the pulsating city.
pulsating...loneliness...still echoes in that empty place deep inside my chest.
night and day and a love supreme, i could search forever and you'd hide just as long. sweet love supreme, burn me down, change the color of these eyes.

february 24, 2001
whoever thought a sentimental mood could give one the jitters? lately i've been wishing the time would move at a much slower tempo, or maybe that i could move at a much, much faster one. what's left is a week and half a day.
what's left seems too much to ever finish off right.

february 22, 2001
sweater day, sweater day...so is it snowing where you are?
beneath the clouds it's raining silver sunshine, as warm hands reach down to untie the knot inside my chest.
and though the wind tries to cut through my clothes, there is a sweater that will always keep me warm.
today is locking eyes and hands and words,
conducting the air over steaming coffee,
creating sound in colors like paint...
gray plus gray can make brilliance.

february 18, 2001
if i looked as deeply into myself as i possibly could,
i doubt i'd ever find anything that i couldn't share with your ears.

february 16, part 2
piano players are so beautiful..they remind me of ballet dancers who just happen to concentrate mostly on their fingers. their hands glide, weaving sound with each touch, and their shoulders follow after in graceful swells and sighs. seems they're riding on top of the music, floating on it like ships on the ocean. when i was five years old, my grandmother showed me the grace of a seasoned pianist..sweetly curved hands, even sweeter motion..i tried to imitate her but fell far short of my goal. so i watched. looked on as a visual image communicated such richness of sound.
chopin, with eyes closed.
gershwin, oh you move like water!
now just as then, no song could possibly last long enough.

february 16, 2001
spring awakens to soft breezes and flowing stripes of blue, the color of the sky that lingers even after dawn has passed. under clouds our eyes open and blink away the grit of days past, wash it away with salty water and good mornings, and invite the mellow glow from over the windowsill into our thoughts. we all move in separate directions, some on wheels, some on foot, with far different destinations and thoughts running through our heads and walking in step with our feet.
there are sounds that nobody can hear.
moist air makes for a lovely tonal center for us, the composers.
cutting and splicing, motion of feet phasing apart and back together..
we build works of art.
thoughts behind our steps, the reasons, the ideas..
they combine to build worlds.

february 14, 2001
keep walkin that bassline and tappin on those drums. croon away, sweet singer, and call the sun up every morning with your song. i'll keep the time even after these hours have passed...
"every day is valentine's day."

february 12, 2001
can two people be connected? it is as if a cable runs from your head to mine, a one-hundred-and-fifty mile long link, slender, weightless, and clear. or maybe we are wireless like cell phones, signals bouncing from ugly metal tower to ugly metal tower as they make their way across the cities and farms. information transmitted..blips in the line..
thoughts suddenly change color as inaudible words infiltrate their edges and centers. one moment here is happiness, but the next brings deep blackness and tears. real phones call away and up to you to find your world fallen apart, time and time again. tiny morse-code-maker taps out messages..your hopelessness, your fear..transferred and translated as tiny scrawls of black on paper. now
my hopelessness. my fear.
(and what has ever scared me besides angry dogs and holy matrimony? in that case, this feeling in my veins is a breathy snarl under a white lace veil.)
in case the connection works two ways, i must stand and be brave. i'll flex my muscles and pretend i'm big and strong for you. and
in case your end is the only one that can send, i pray i never feel sadness again.

february 5, 2001
"good night, sweet baby"
these muscles ache for the sound of your words, the sweet darkness that swirls around my head and kisses my eyes closed. this is a healing place, smooth fabric for gathering warmth, soft music for building dreams. in days past, i looked and saw but a simple structure of wood and walls...but each passing hour serves to realign my sight. the brightness of the moon shines down through delicate branches and clear glass, and i can see no other. no other place is one where i'd rather be.
minutes. footsteps. and soon the day's dull ache will subside.
come wash me away, as one bathed in darkness, caressed by the chords of the night.