PLAYING HANDEL

Playing Handel
in my mind and head
playing you
for a month at a time
on one small corner
of the universe
in sound proof studios
on the ball infields
or by the ocean sands
under a beautiful foreign sun
washed bodies of water
with you swimming out,
your notes not lost in visiting
to honor those under Asian ashes
or in European concentration camps,
when you feel
like a thousand days
of long suffering,
we can always hear you.