PLAYING A FOUR HAND

Playing a four hand sonata
with my favorite Bach sonata
on the recital program
wounds me to the quick
as in my chosen poetry's music
hearing a vital thunderous
applause from the audience
reacting to my atmospheric tone
as a jazz poet's spirit pauses
among the riffs of panegyrics
as if from a faintly anarchic night
with Spanish love songs
featured and playing
to enlighten and disclose
with a lightening -split for us
in the language sung
from a loving choir on stage
and an outstanding chorus
here at the All Saints church
with young proteges and clerics
from the Boston music school
searching by staves and staffs
standing by my audience
as my melancholic eyes
are now drawn
into metamorphic silence
on this paragraph's page
of my intense graphic memoir
and epitaph
among the wise cadenzas
composed for tonight.