Fermata

For suffering gilded my faith's shifting

contours, I transposed violence across

the algorithm of piano keys.

In the murk past the stage, the audience

swelled, an insatiable ear I fed my

history trimmed of its disfigurements.

Decades past acclaim, I grasp finally

how hermitic this stage is; this music

no longer can debate the growing noise.

Now with finality’s last thrust of strength–

my tuxedo holding the confluence

of my body the way hands hold prayer–

I brick with each note the chamber where

memory’s stem is cut and flower pressed.