No Proof

It was never about the words,
or the way they are arranged,
or even how much space I left,
crafting the canyons between
each sound in the hope you might see
the forest hidden in these flattened trees
and all the secret ways that tie me
to this timeless search I seem to repeat,
leaving love notes to the one
I gave my heart to,
fully alive to the ecstatic tragedy
of it’s fall into time;
knowing the truth cannot change
how I feel.

It was never about written proof,
but the musicality of meaning
and the meanings only to be found
in music, and how we made it all up,
this soulful celebration I scribbled once
in an old rain forest, kept safe
in the core of a mythic continent
which calls to me in dreams,
draws me back into one
green dot dancing on a map:
mad and mortal and all
the more in love for it.

Traces

Bach’s Harmonic Universe

In one