Meditations on Sensation
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Am I Missing Something?

The sea is beautiful
Of course it is
How could it not be

But I feel as though I'm missing something
That awe that others share
For beauty is not rare

The air is fresh and clean and cold
Unlike my home
Why should my lungs not

But the thrill of easy breathing fades quickly
To an expectation
For joy is but a moment

I miss you.

It wasn't just a moment, with you.

Outside my window is the same light of a different city
With a billion more lights and one fewer homes
And from each one I am struck by sonder
A short breath of childish wonder
The sounds of life make for rolling thunder
From towers and boardwalks and streets to wander
It's beautiful it's joyful it's everything I wanted
I can walk by the sea and breathe in the air
And see lights on the skyline without feeling haunted-

But it's just a city by the sea.
I live here
Whatever that means.
This kind of beauty isn't rare.

Missing Something, for Solo Piano

A Brighter Evening

I made a cup of coffee this morning
Just personal maintenance, something to keep me going.
It was fine.
But then a little blue bird came through my glowing window
And nuzzled its head against my hand
So soft
And my second cup of coffee tastes better now
Richer, fuller, smoother, it’s an indulgence that I gift to myself
Something to enjoy about life, and sing about, like a bird

The ocean was grey this morning
Not really grey, but it was hard to tell the difference between it and the cloudy sky.
No horizon.
But then a little sky blue bird landed on my arm
And told me that my shoulder was nice to stand on
So trusting
And now the sky looks like feathers, light blue brushed with white and flecked with grey
While the ocean is a deep blue-green, a mix of the coming night sky with the trees on the coast
A horizon to seek and fly to, like a bird

The wind was unrelenting this morning
A barrier in one direction, an unbalancing force in the other.
Too much.
But then a strong little bird glided down on the breeze
And gave me a small stick that it had found, somewhere
So real
And now the winds are just enough to tousle my hair
A comfortable resistance, or a supporting push
Towards the place I can build a nest, perhaps with a certain little bird

For my beloved, my little parakeet, Rain

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