the tenth octave
i gather the fractured sunlight,
savouring the feel of it pooling
in my palms, a glistening ambrosia
nestling its weight, safe and sound.
i wish not to forget, but alas, the
12th chime rings; they tug on my
heart and in its fervent rush, i am
stolen away once again.
i wish to keep my heart where it belongs,
for the sun to ever rain on my lonely
parade, to see it upon my horizon once
more, the taste of its sweetness upon
my tongue and on my vulnerable breast;
but i can only package all my regret and grief
into a shimmering glass slipper, a left behind
memoir of that rising octave my life's melody
