the shy tongues of quiet softness

give me the flash of color and light. give me the faces, the chaos and the dust. when i lost myself in the desert, i went through the cracks, found the piano in my own wilderness, let it grow like a flower and set it down, and with the leaving and the looking it became the truth. the pieces have crumbled and in crumbling have become whole. so come rub your newsprint against me, come set free my birds, come wash in my hurricanes, and lets go begging for music. because i have found it, that twisting current of abrupt beauty gone ablaze in the sky's skirts, and there is no need for crying my dear, there may yet be again, but for now, for now, we play.