Sunday, April 11, 2010

Agajanian On Fire

A girl named Olga stole my heart,
For a second while I fixed her bagel,
Light cream cheese, she blinked
And my heart skipped a beat.
A strong beat, perhaps with raucous guitar and
Piano accompaniment or,
Segovia on strings, Agajanian on fire,
I dream.

Windows open in my big house
By the ocean, the breeze blows in,
Wind over wheat fields,
Garth Brooks croons of dances past,
First love and fireworks.

A synchronicity of nerves on edge,
From battles at work,
Squirrel Zippers, perhaps,
But they make my feet tap,
And I don’t feel much like dancing.

Father flails in hospital again,
In the dark of my living room,
I pursue perspective,
Jars of Clay carries me,
Balanced between hope and angst.

Heart longing to touch,
Something bigger than itself,
I’ll choose Waits, he knows that pain,
And Powell, who knows the Healer.

No comments: