May Be

How solitary and resolute I look these days,
A stoic gaze simplifies my bewildered face.
solitary, but not stagnant,
As the early warmth of sunlight gladly comforts magenta rose,
Languorous morning reabsorbs into a lambent priori of muse.

Rain or shine,
The strings of my violin remain dutifully hanging,
not the lamenting wires of a prison camp, 
for she’s the instrument of my escape, 
leaving me alone to educate my feeling,
subtracting the red from nights till 
a dreamcatcher turns dawns vivifying.

The violin master once remarked, 
if matching the gliding bow with that innermost wavelets,
then, someone on the other side of the ocean could hear me.
How alluringly said....
I once marveled, I forever wished.
Words can often take a beauteous life on their own.

So whisper to me tonight, my friend,
by the sovereign chartreuse
Under the pastel of periwinkle lights.
And who can say for certain,
Maybe, 
you are still there.
Maybe, 
On the other side of the ocean,
You are still hearing this adagio of mine.

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