I stand in the cavernous hall waiting to be born again
The trees tremble beneath each new whispered soliloquy
I hear my mother’s melody in the cacophony of the rain
as shadows of the departed seek to serenade me.
I wash myself in the baptism of Time’s great mire
I wield the knife carefully
Gravity and Relativity squat beside a dying log-fire
Dissecting the fleshy body of what was to become me.
The first time I heard her play,
a desperate attempt to prove she loved me,
I felt as though I was listening to my own DNA
strum a requiem on the corrugated-iron above me.
Her dead fingers drum like a skeleton’s bony hand
across the subcutaneous keys of my baby grand.