Solipsism at St Peter’s

I tried to sklent

to see if you

were enjoying Joep

as much as I

the Dutch poet

at the pulpit

(in his sanctuary)

striking looking

like an

Old Testament

prophet

---

I heard the keys

gentle Goliath

struck

to unlock

the magic wooden box

and the sounds drifted up

t’wards heaven

(if they …escape

…the vaulted nave)

---

I wondered if

we too

are music

trapped vibrations

echoing off the walls

until one day we are

at rest, as one

with all around us

(the self absorbed)

eternally fading minor notes

still part of the greater song

---

I felt you tremble

watched mute

as your body racked

with stifled sobs

so English not to cause a fuss

(you know for Scots it’s all about us)

the impoliteness of your grief

caught you unawares

washing through you like a wave

carrying everything to nothing

from everywhere to nowhere

---

I touched you to say

I am here

I care

and wondered if it was

just the piano chords

that brought you back

to Jim

(you played them to him as he died)

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