BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

When vast clouds waver
before the raindrops
and the wind moves the sea
you realize a day's velocity
crashes when your city's shrouds
its sudden thunder to move you
by the gazebo's bandstand
to a magnetic memory
of the mountain's path
and every bird is a turtledove
in the giant sky
when the landscape painting
of Van Gogh is nebulous
yet visible in a flick of daylight
only seen on an absent canvas
remembering the last reading
you gave on the stage
was Hamlet in a foreign tongue
words rise between worlds
like your Pyrrhic victory in chess
before the last act
behind the curtains
only weighed you down
as a theatrical pawn,
recalling you played Bach
in a smooth jazz version
wholly from despair
shivering between shadows
impressed in the cathedral
by raising up
your middle finger
to catch the grasshopper
who appears on the keyboard.