ON THE MIRRORS OF ARVO PART AND HIS DEPARTURE
yesterday you wrote inscribed and ever inscribing in the pooling of mirrors
crushing the kaleidoscopic colours of feelings past music into an undiscoverd realm or as if angelic beings held enormous
mirrors reflecting music back from its beginning in a universe we could not know or forgot that we knew
or were we driven in fear from the yard of gold by the dogs with eyes as enormous as teacups, windmills in a neighborhood of sounds distressed
compressed our hearts boiling with the lids on tight
so that you alone guessed and then took note in notes as rare as certain birdsong at night did you wake to hear? sheer
refractions of the rose, the violet, the forest shards ah children turn again, you whispered, Christmas uncle that you are
and then it works
the battered toy, the hidden borealis, star no longer receding
and in your midnight watches so composed beyond the guarded borders of our sighs of the whirling angels that we all stood still
a kind of requiem in ourselves
weeping that this music filled an ache in the soul never before comprehended
2 october 2016