Messiaen paints in the air,
Flashing brilliant colors like the
lightning of your hands on the keys:
Parting the reddened form of my mouth in a love song
to the birds
Pushing the deeping clouds
with feathered chords across the indigo sky.
Realizing a trinity of hued love:
You, the piano and a divinely ordained synesthesia -
While the night and I race our ears to listen.
Oh how the clouds do gallop!
Propelled by some unseen force beyond my senses,
or Perhaps just as my pounding heart,
trying to keep pace with the flight of your lightening hands.
Beginning: swept up by the pulsing course
of your creation,
Where colors, sounds and hands
birth one holy spirit.
Faster and faster
we all dive into the sky,
until - playing and listening are so much the same -
I am the piano
on which your fingers ecstatically sparkle
beating my heart,
pressing my lips,
voicing my cries.