opus

Having spent his entire childhood in seclusion

In a forest

A King composes a suspended orchestra 

Ode to his ocean 

His Queen

While king’s speak through the stars 

Do the seas give enough?

Do her waters?

Do her flames?

You, the jazz drummer

Sitting on holy grief

Counting out cycles

Through worlds 

Through worlds 

I want to press piano notes to your lips

So it stains the otherwise reckless thread that grows out

An ensemble I’ll pour light over

Despite

Despite