I. march
maybe it is summer again
when fading evenings crystallize softly to
sunrise and reminisce of brighter days
(our blushing cheeks were callow)
when shallow mornings wake with gossamer
fingers intertwined

you are the piano man
grasping moonlight's wrinkled smile in
your palms and in the melody
while our summer again fingers almost
dance across the keys

II. april
i am paper thin, and you are chalky
paving every road with fading colors
music lifts from your dancing fingers
my tears peel away as they blister

so prick a softer tune for
me (only me, for time is tender)
as you approach the pinking sky
carry me on your turtle back
while i curl into my knees and crumble

you are of saffron yellow and the hum
of your breathing
that washes in and out like
paper (i am paper thin)
as summer peeks between the pages
i will cradle your bleeding hands
as you cradle me
in a womb of waving noon-blue grass
(our grass)
and we become honey

june will tiptoe back, for june will wake the
summer and mostly
closely
we will rise (you have made me
fly)

III. may
perhaps it is the cadence in your fingers
the music in your eyes
the rhythm that they prick so
slowly slow and warm like honey
that breaks me

silently i find my palms
have pinprick holes through bones
and summer’s almost light shines through

for perhaps it is the cadence in your fingers

IV. june
listen silently (i am silent)
as summer’s stars bleach in
the white keys shine
almost stainless

for you are the piano man
and summer comes again