Gershwin Sky

_{View from the terrace at the house I grew up in and my Dad’s cat, Alice, regally photo-bombing.}

(For my Dad.)

-

I know God

because I know

of how the lifting

piano chords

defy heaven.

.

At August sunset

it fights fierce,

today’s air

but

.

then, my loosening skin,

oh Then, waning eyes,

versus now:

half-way through

and nigh on gone.

An organ missing.

A heart in the red.

One of us

forever collapsed.

Piano ill-tuned.

And oh well.

We’re no worse off.

So we say.

.

Such is the music

and with it

roars that all-eating

storm.

.

We’re not immortal.

There is decay.

There are the stars

now granite

who choked on

their fame.

.

We can respin

none of what

used to glitter.

Remember when,

on our terrace

of the Universe,

everyone had someone to be?

.

We ate fragrance.

We ate riches.

Herbs ever fresh.

The white icy.

The red breathing.

Baguette magique.

Rocamadour in its

edible glories.

.

You played Gershwin,

and Cole Porter,

until dark.

Until the crystal was clear.

.

I follow chords.

They guide me back.

We sing for rain now.

Not in it.

.

Louise I. Baker