Written when listening to Rafael on piano

A piano is so sweet, like rivers
flowing around and under paths upon which
my feet pit and patter upon
like falling rocks, like falling dust
I am falling dust, illuminated, sunrise is
my glory
I am falling dust, illuminated, the firelight
to your story
These falling fingers pit and patter, waltzing
up along the black and white keyed crescendo of
your creation song.
A piano is the sweetest thing; my dust
it tells the story of creation and crescendo
every time I sing your glory.

Such meandering accompanies my dusty
fire-lit chamber, echoes cascade from
my crooked shoulder-blades to whet the spirit
caged within.
The river-like meandering of this meadow-song
is moonlight at midday, heart-speech in loneliness,
celebrating sorrow. Oh tomorrow,
tomorrow speaks in piano chords, sweet promise of tomorrow.
Tomorrow, salvation of man! Turning of
the page, ending of the age, God, you are tomorrow!
The day when dust falls and rocks fall
like leaves in timeless autumn's clarion call.