I am infinite. The sweet sound of steel

whirls in the air, painting it with sapphire

strokes and sunlight as my heart soars

from my body, and my organs decompose

into stardust until I am floating.

The clouds around my head are blended

notes from the pan I play, and I don’t notice

the smiles of the audience; all that exists

are me, the drum, and the motoring beat

that drives me through the melody.

I want to dance and move my limbs

as if tomorrow is a rumor. I want to live

eternally in the moment and remember

this feeling when I am eighty-years old,

sitting in a rocking chair and listening

to a recording of “Pan Woman.” I want

to remember what a weightless heart

feels like, what a cleared mind is, and how

a soul touched by music feels like a thousand

stars kissing me on my body until I am as silver

and as shimmering as the steel drum I play.